ry white.

Just as the applause seemed fading beyond recall Claude stepped through
the gap, followed by Armand Gillier.

Once more the cries were heard. The applause revived. Charmian gazed at
Claude. His face, she thought, looked set but quite calm. He stood at
the very edge of the stage, and she saw him look, not toward where she
was, but up to the gallery as if in search of someone. Then he stepped
back. He had come to the audience before Gillier. He now disappeared
before Gillier, who seemed about to follow him closely, hesitated,
looked round once more at the audience, and stood for an instant alone
on the stage.

Then suddenly came from the audience the sound!

It was less full, less strong, less intense than it had been at Covent
Garden on the night of the first performance of _Le Paradis Terrestre_.
But essentially it was the same sound.

Charmian heard it and her lips grew pale. But she sat well forward in
the box, and, though she saw two opera-glasses levelled at her, she
lifted her hands again and clapped till Armand Gillier passed out of
sight.

CHAPTER XXXVII

In the red sitting-room at the St. Regis Hotel a supper-table was laid
for three people. It was decorated with some lilies-of-the-valley and
white heather, which Jacob Crayford had sent in the afternoon to the
"little lady." On a table near stood a gilded basket of tulips, left by
Gillier with a formal note. The elderly German waiter, who looked like a
very respectable butler, placed a menu beside the lilies and the heather
soon after the clock struck twelve. Then he glanced at the clock,
compared it with his silver watch, and retired to see that the champagne
was being properly iced. He returned, with a subordinate, about
half-past twelve, and began to arrange an ice pail, from which the neck
of a bottle protruded, and other things on a side table. While he was
still in the room he heard voices in the corridor, and the three people
for whom the preparations had been made came in.

"Supper is ready? That's right!" Charmian said, in a high and gay voice.

She turned.

"Doesn't the table look pretty, Alston, with Mr. Crayford's white
heather?"

She had Alston's red roses in her hand.

"I am going to put your roses in water now."

She turned again to the waiter.

"Could I have some water put in that vase, please? And we'll have supper
at once."

"Certainly, ma'am!"

"Come and see the menu, both of you, and tell me if you are