Carlo. Sidney and David are like ghouls. I don't ask what it is all
about--I know better--but I wish it were all over, whatever it is."

"Is Sidney back?" Hunterleys asked eagerly.

She nodded.

"He came in half-an-hour ago, looking like a tramp. David is writing as
though he hadn't a moment to spare in life. They are both waiting for
you, I think."

"And you?" he enquired. "How do the rehearsals go?"

"The rehearsals are all right," she admitted, looking up at him almost
pathetically. "It's the night itself that seems so awful. I know every
word, I know every note, and yet I can't feel sure. I can't sleep for
thinking about it. Only last night I had a nightmare. I saw all those
rows and rows of faces, and the lights, and my voice went, my tongue was
dry and hard, not a word would come. And you were there--and the
others!"

He laughed at her.

"Little girl," he said solemnly, "I shall have to speak to Sidney. One
of those two young men must take you out for a day in the country
to-morrow."

"They seem so busy," she complained. "They don't seem to have time to
think of me. I suppose I had better let you go in. They'd be furious if
they thought I was keeping you."

They passed into the villa, and with a farewell pat of the hand
Hunterleys left her and opened a door on the left-hand side of the hall.
The young man who had met him coming out of the Opera was standing with
his hands in his pockets, upon the hearth-rug of an exceedingly
untidy-looking apartment. There was a table covered with papers, another
piled with newspapers. There were books upon the floor, pipes and
tobacco laid about haphazard. A space had been swept clear upon the
larger table for a typewriter, a telephone instrument stood against the
wall. A man whose likeness to Felicia was at once apparent, swung round
in his chair as Hunterleys entered. He had taken off his coat and
waistcoat and his trousers seemed smothered with dust.

"Regular newspaper correspondent's den," Hunterleys remarked, as he
looked around him. "I never saw such a mess in my life. I wonder Felicia
allows it."

"We don't let her come in," her brother chuckled. "Is the door closed?"

"Fast," Hunterleys replied, moving away from it.

"Things are moving," the other went on. "I took the small car out to-day
on the road to Cannes and I expect I was the first to see Douaille."

"I saw him myself," Hunterleys announced. "I was out on that road,
walking."

"Douaille," Roc