d to their posts."

My voice trembled as I bent over and whispered in his ear, "What would
you do, George, if she came and sang, and you found that you were not
chained? You and the other men not chained? What would you men do,
George?"

"Ask them," he snarled. "Ask them, one at a time. But I know what I
would do. I know!"

And he started to cry, because he could not do it the next second; cried
from rage and helplessness till the tears ran from his empty sockets.

"Does she always come at the same time?"

"As far as I know. But time is nothing to us. We just wait for death."

"Are the chains locked?"

"Yes. And she must have the key. But we could file the links if only we
had files. If only each of us had a file, we could get free. Perhaps the
man upstairs has a key, but I hardly think so."

"Did you write on that pretty wall upstairs, the whitewashed wall?"

"I did; I think we all did. One man wrote a sonnet to the woman, verses
in her honor, telling about her beautiful eyes. He raved about that poem
for hours while he was dying. Did you ever see it on the wall?"

"I did not see it. The old people whitewash the walls before each new
master comes."

"I thought so."

"Are you sure you would know what to do, George, if she sang to you and
you were loose?"

"Yes, we would know."

So I left him, promising an end to the matter as soon as I could arrange
it.

* * * * *

The next day saw me calling on the Donna Marchesi. I took her flowers
that time, a corsage of vivid purple and scarlet orchids. She
entertained me in her music room and I, taking the hint, asked her to
sing. Shyly, almost with reluctance, she did as I asked. She sang the
selection from the Italian opera that I knew so well. I was generous in
my applause.

She smiled.

"You like to hear me sing?"

"Indeed! I want to hear you again. I could hear you daily without
growing tired."

"You're nice," she purred. "Perhaps it could be arranged."

"You are too modest. You have a wonderful voice. Why not give it to the
world?"

"I sang once in public," she sighed. "It was in New York, at a private
musical. There were many men there. Perhaps it was stage fright; my
voice broke badly, and the audience, especially the men, were not kind.
I am not sure, but I thought that I heard some of them hiss me."

"Surely not!" I protested.

"Indeed, so. But no man has hissed my singing since then."

"I hope not!" I repl