arl had already begun to twine a wet handkerchief round the
injured wrist.

'I was crossing the stage between the acts,' said Carl; 'a plank had
been moved, and I set my foot in the hole and fell--voila tout I want
to ask you to play for me. There is not a man in the band who can do
justice to "When Love has flown." It will be no trouble to you. You will
simply have to stand in the flies and play the air whilst a man on the
stage appears to play it, sawing away with a soaped bow. Will you come?'

Christopher stood irresolute. 'They can do without me in the orchestra,'
said Carl, 'but I have been playing your song as it deserves to be
played. Mademoiselle Helene looks forward to its being played so. It
gives her aid, I know. The people look to hear it well played, and if
you do not go it will be given to Jones--to Jones, Gott in Himmel! who
plays as a mason cuts stone. Do come. It will cost you no trouble.'

Christopher took up his violin-case, long since extracted from My
Uncle's maw, and followed Carl from the chambers into the street.

'You play only the first movement, very low and soft,' said Carl as they
went along. 'I will stand by you and tell you when to begin.'

They entered the theatre--a terra incognita to Christopher--and found
their way through a chaos of disused dusty scenery. A great burst of
applause sounded through the unseen house.

'That is for Mademoiselle,' said Carl, 'We are just in time to get breath
comfortably. Stay here. I will be with you directly.'

He left Christopher standing in the flies, looking on the stage. There
were two or three people on the boards, but Christopher had not the key
to their talk, and had little interest in them. By-and-by all but
one left the stage. The light dwindled and faded. The sun-sets on the
English stage are as rapid as in any tropic region. The player played
his part. He was in love, and true as true could be, but the empress of
his soul had her doubts about him. How could she doubt him? That was
the burden of his speech as he sat at the table, and murmured the loved
one's cruelty with a broken voice and his whole function suiting with
forms to his conceit. It was almost dark when the first rays of the
silver moon fell athwart the chamber. Christopher felt that the dead
silence of the house betokened the coming of the crisis in the play,
and he was strung to the expectation of something out of the common.
Watching from his own dark standing-place, he co