he
was furious because Gillier's libretto had never been submitted to her
husband; but she could not say all that was in her mind. She and
Adelaide Shiffney had been frank with each other in the matter, and she
had no intention of making any mistake because she was angry.

"We haven't much time to spare. Jacques has to get on with his new
opera."

Gillier sat down on a chair with a certain cold and reluctant but
definite politeness. His look and manner said: "I cannot, of course,
leave this lady whom I hate."

"He is a great man now. I congratulate you on his success."

"Jacques was always a great man, but he didn't quite understand it."

"You enlightened him, madame."

"Exactly."

"That was very clever of you."

"It wasn't stupid. But I don't happen to be a stupid woman." Her yellow
eyes narrowed.

"I know how to detect quality. And I suppose you do?"

"Why, madame?"

"You tried to sell libretti to my husband before he was famous."

"And failed."

"Yes. But now I'm glad to know you have succeeded with another man who
is not famous yet."

Gillier laid his right hand down on one of the glazed black covers of
_L'Illustration_.

"You do not believe in my talent, madame. I cannot understand why you
should be interested in such a matter."

"You make the mistake of supposing that a talented man can never be
immature. What you offered to my husband was immature; but I always knew
you had talent."

"Indeed? You never told me so that I remember."

"You appeared to be fully aware of it."

Gillier made a fist of his hand on the cover. He wished Jacques Sennier
were setting the libretto he had sold to Claude Heath, and Madame
Sennier wished exactly the same thing. He did not know her thought; but
she divined his. With all her soul, greedy for her Jacques and for
herself, she coveted that libretto. She almost hated Claude Heath for
possessing it. And now, as she sat opposite to Gillier, with the round
table between them, always alert for intrigue, she began to wonder
whether in truth the libretto was irrevocably lost to them.

"Weren't you?" she said, fixing her unflinching eyes upon him.

"I knew I was not quite such a fool as your husband certainly thought
me."

"Jacques is a mere baby outside of his art."

"_Si?_"

"That is why I have to think for him very often. Which of the libretti
has Mr. Heath bought?"

"It is not one of those I had the honor of showing to Monsieur Sennier."

"Really? You