ow I have a
chance, a great chance, of being associated with someone who is already
famous, who would make the success of my libretto a certainty--"

"A chance, when your libretto is my property!" interrupted Claude.

"Oh, I know as well as you do that it's a hard thing to ask you to throw
away all these months of labor! I don't think I could have done it,
though in this world every man, every artist especially, must think of
himself, if it wasn't for one thing."

"And that is--?"

"Your heart isn't in the work!" said Gillier defiantly, but with a
curious air of conviction--the conviction of an acute man who had made a
discovery which could not be contested or gainsaid.

"That's not true, Monsieur Gillier!" said Charmian, with hot energy.

Claude said nothing, and Gillier continued, raising his voice:

"It is true. Your talent and mine are not fitted to be joined together,
and you are artist enough to know it as well as I do. I haven't heard
your music; but I can tell. I may be poor, I may be unknown--that
doesn't matter! I've got the instinct that doesn't lie, can't lie. If I
had known you as I do now, before I had sold my libretto, you never
should have had it, even if you had offered me five hundred pounds
instead of a hundred, and nobody else would have looked at it. With your
temperament, with your way of thinking, you'll never make a success of
it--never! I tell you that--I who am speaking to you!"

The veins in his temples swelled, and he frowned.

"Give me back my libretto and take back your money! Let me have my
chance of success. Madame--she is hard! She cares nothing! But--"

"Monsieur, I must ask you to leave my wife's name out," said Claude.

And for the first time since he had come into the room he spoke with
stern determination.

He had become very pale, and now looked strangely moved.

"I won't have her name brought in," he added. "This is my affair."

"Very well! Will you let me buy back my libretto?"

Charmian expected an instant stern refusal from her husband. But after
Gillier's question there was a prolonged pause. She wanted to break it,
to answer fiercely for Claude; but she did not dare to. For a moment
something in her husband's look and manner dominated her. For a moment
she was in subjection. She sat still staring at Claude, waiting for him
to speak. He sat looking down, and it seemed to her as if he were
wrestling as Jacob wrestled with the angel. His white forehead drew her