oked at him, smiling:

"I am sure Charmian knows that."

Claude reddened to the roots of his hair and felt suddenly abased.

"There are very few great artists in the world," he said.

"And, so, very few inflexible men?"

"I have never--"

He pulled himself up.

"Yes?" she said encouragingly.

"I was only going to say," he said, speaking now doggedly, "that I have
never laid claim to anything--anything in the way of talent. It isn't
quite fair, is it, to assume that I consider myself a man of talent or
an important person when I don't?"

"Do you really mean to tell me that you don't think yourself a man of
talent?"

"I am entirely unknown."

"What has that to do with it?"

"Nothing, of course, but--but perhaps it is only when he has something
to offer, and has offered it, that a man knows what is his value."

"In that case you will know when you have produced your opera."

Claude looked down.

"All my good wishes and my prayers will go with you from now till its
production," she continued, always lightly. "I have a right to be
specially interested since that evening with Said Hitani. And then I
have been privileged. I have read the libretto."

As she spoke Claude was conscious of uneasiness. He thought of Charmian,
of Mrs. Shiffney, of the libretto. Had he not been carried away by
events, by atmosphere, perhaps, and by the influence of music, which
always had upon him such a dangerously powerful effect? He remembered
the night when he had written his decisive letter to Charmian. Music had
guided him then. Had it not guided him again in Constantine? Was it
angel or demon in his life?

"Help me down, please. It's a little difficult here."

He took Mrs. Shiffney's hand. Its clasp now told him nothing.

They crossed the bridge and came once more into the violent activities,
into the perpetual uproar of the city.

By the evening train Mrs. Shiffney and her party left for Algiers.
Claude went down to the station to see them off.

On the platform they found Armand Gillier, with a bunch of flowers in
his hand.

Just as the train was about to start he presented it to Madame Sennier.

From the window of the _wagon-lit_ Mrs. Shiffney looked at the two men
standing together as the train drew away from the platform.

Then she nodded and waved her hand.

There was a mocking smile on her face.

When the station was hidden she leaned back, turning toward Henriette.

"Claude Heath is a fool!" she said.