my friendly but somewhat judicial cross-examination
that ensued, it was evident that not a word had escaped Alice's lips
that any one but that big optimistic child of a Tanrade could have
construed as her promise to be his wife. He confided her words to me
reluctantly, now that he realized how little she had meant.

"Come," said I, in an effort to cheer him, "have courage! A woman's
heart that is won easily is not worth fighting for. You shall see, old
fellow--things will be better."

But he only shook his head, shrugged his great shoulders, and puffed
doggedly at his pipe in silence. My tall clock in the corner ticked the
louder, its brass pendulum glinting as it swung to and fro in the light
of the slumbering fire. I threw on a fresh log, kicked it into a blaze,
and poured out for him a stiff glass of applejack. I had faith in that
applejack, for it had been born in the moonlit courtyard years ago. It
roused him, for I saw something of his old-time self brighten within
him; he even made an attempt at a careless smile--the reminiscent smile
of a philosopher this time.

"What if I went to see her?" I remarked pointblank.

"You! _Mon Dieu!_" He half sprang out of the armchair in his intensity.
"Are you crazy?"

"Forgive me," I apologized. "I did not mean to hurt you. I only
thought--and you are in no condition to reason--that Alice may have
changed her mind, may regret having refused you. Women change their
minds, you know. She might even confess this to me since there is
nothing between us and we are old friends."

"No, no," he protested. "You are not to speak of me to Madame de
Breville--do you understand?" he cried, his voice rising. "You are not
to mention my name, promise me that."

This time it was I who shrugged my shoulders in reply. He sat gripping
the arms of his chair, again his gaze reverted stolidly to the fire. The
clock ticked on past midnight, peacefully aloof as if content to be well
out of the controversy.

"A drop more?" I ventured, reaching for the decanter; but he stayed my
arm.

"I've been a fool," he said slowly. "_Ah! Mon Dieu! Les femmes! Les
femmes! Les femmes!_" he roared. "Very well," he exclaimed hotly, "it is
well finished. To-morrow I must go to Paris for the new rehearsals. I
have begged off for a week. Duclos is beside himself with anxiety--two
telegrams to-day, the last one imperative. The new piece must open at
the Folies Parisiennes the eighth."

I saw him out to the gate