eyes. She was filled with fear; but when he looked up at her the fear
grew. She felt almost sick--sick with apprehension.

"Claude!" she said. "Oh, Claude!"

It seemed that his eyes had put a great question to her, and now her
voice had answered it.

Claude turned to Armand Gillier.

"Monsieur," he said, "you can't have your libretto back. It's mine, and
I'm going to keep it."

When Gillier was gone Charmian said, almost in a faltering voice, and
with none of her usual self-possession of manner:

"How--how could you bear that man's insults as you did?"

"His insults?"

"Yes."

Claude looked at her in silence. And again she was conscious of fear.

"Don't let us ever speak of this again," he answered at last.

He went away.

That day he was in his workroom till very late. He did not come to tea.
The evening fell; but he was not working on the opera. Charmian heard
him playing Bach.

* * * * *

At the end of April Alston Lake came once more to visit them.

Since those London days when they had first met him Lake had made great
progress toward the fulfilment of his ambition. His energy and will were
beginning to reap a good reward. He was making money, enough money to
live upon; but he had still to pay back his big debt to Jacob Crayford,
had still to achieve his great desire, an appearance in Grand Opera.
When he arrived at Djenan-el-Maqui he brought with him, as of old, an
infectious atmosphere of enthusiasm. With his iron will he combined a
light heart. He had none of the childishness that surprised, and
sometimes charmed, in Jacques Sennier, but much that was boyish still
pleasantly lingered with him. In him, too, there was something
courageous that inspired courage in others.

This time he announced he could stay for a month if they did not mind.
He wanted a thorough rest before the many concerts he was going to sing
at during the London season. Both Charmian and Claude were delighted.
When Claude heard of it he was silent for a moment. Then he began to
reckon.

"The thirtieth to-day, isn't it? By a month do you mean a month or four
weeks?"

"Well, four weeks, old chap!"

"That is less than a month."

"I wish it weren't. But I have to sing in London at the Bechstein Hall
early in June. So I'm running it pretty close as it is."

"May the twenty-eighth you go, then," said Claude.

"That's it. But why these higher mathematics?"

Claude only smiled and went out