have done something for you once, have helped you on a little, perhaps.
But now you are married and settled and will make your own way. I feel
it. You don't want anyone's help. You've come away from us all, and how
right you've been. And Charmian's done the right thing, too, giving up
all our nonsense for your work. Sacrifice means success. You are bound
to have it. I feel you are going to. Ah, you don't know how I sometimes
long to be linked, really linked, to the striving, the abnegation, the
patience, the triumph of a man of genius! People envy my silly little
position, as they call it. And what is it worth? And yet I do know, I
have an instinct, a flair, for the real thing. I'm ignorant. I can dare
to acknowledge it to you. But I can tell what is good and bad, and
sometimes even why a thing is good. I'm led away, of course. In a silly
social life like mine everybody is led away. We can't help it. But I
could have been worth something in the art life of a big man, if I'd
loved him."

How soft sable is against a hand!

"I'm sure you could," Claude said.

"And as it is--"

She stopped speaking abruptly. Then with a marked change of voice she
said:

"Oh, do forgive me for committing the unpardonable sin--babbling about
myself! You're the only person I have ever--Forget all about it, won't
you? I don't know why I did it. It was the music, I suppose, and the
strangeness of this place, and thinking of your work and your hopes for
the future. It made me wish I had some too, either for myself or
for--for someone like you."

As if irresistibly governed by feeling her voice had again changed,
become once more warm as with emotion. But now she drew herself up a
little and laughed.

"Don't be afraid! It's over! But you have had a glimpse no one else has
ever had, and I know you'll keep it to yourself. Let's talk of something
else--anything. Tell me something about your libretto, if you care to."

As they walked slowly toward the heart of the city, followed by the two
Arabs, she took Claude's arm, very naturally, as if half for protection,
half because it was dark and false steps were possible.

And he told her a good deal, finally a great deal, about the libretto.

"It sounds wonderful!" she said. "I'm so glad! But may I give you a
little bit of advice?"

"Yes, do."

"Don't say anything about it to Henriette--Madame Sennier."

"No. But--"

"Why not? I scarcely know. My instinct! Don't!"

"I won't," Claude s