of our labors," he replied.

"But even Alston is terribly nervous to-day."

"Is he? My hand is as steady as a rock."

He held it out, by a fierce effort kept it perfectly still for a moment,
then let it drop against his side.

The bells of St. Patrick's Cathedral chimed five o'clock.

"Only an hour and we begin!" said Charmian. "Oh, Claude! This is almost
worse than the performance."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Perhaps because it won't be final. And then they say at
dress rehearsals things always go badly, and everyone thinks the piece,
or the opera, is bound to be a failure. I feel wrinkles and gray hairs
pouring over me in spite of your self-possession. I can't help it!"

She forced a laugh. She was walking about the room.

"I'm devoured by nerves, I suppose!" she exclaimed. "By the way, hasn't
Mrs. Shiffney written about coming to-night?"

"No."

"You haven't seen her again?"

"Oh, no!"

"How very odd! Do you suppose she will try to get in?"

"How can I tell?"

"But isn't it strange, after her making such a fuss about coming--this
silence?"

"Probably she's immersed in Sennier's opera and won't bother about
mine."

"Women always bother."

There was a "b-r-r-r!" in the lobby. Charmian started violently.

"What can that be?"

Claude went to the door, and returned with Armand Gillier.

"Oh, Monsieur Gillier!"

Charmian looked at Gillier's large and excited eyes.

"You are coming with us?"

"If you allow me, madame!" said Gillier formally, bowing over her hand.
"It seems to me that the collaborators should go together."

"Of course. It's still early, but we may as well start. The theater's
pulling at me--pulling!"

"My wife's quite strung up!" said Claude, smiling.

"And Claude is disgustingly cool!" said Charmian.

Gillier looked hard at Claude, and Charmian thought she detected
admiration in his eyes.

"Men need to be cool when the critical moment is at hand," he remarked.
"I learned that long ago in Algeria."

"Then you are not nervous now?"

"Nerves are for women!" he returned.

But the expression in his face belied his words.

"Claude is cooler than he is!" Charmian thought.

She went to put on her hat and her sealskin coat. She longed, yet
dreaded to start.

When they arrived at the stage-door of the Opera House the dark young
man came from his office on the right with his hands full of letters,
and, smiling, distributed them to Charmian, Claude and Gillier.

"It will