old stagers of the profession who know their business upside
down and inside out, was in superintendence until Darco should arrive to
mould the whole production to his own exigent fancy.

The change in Annette was remarkable. She had evidently made up her mind
for a struggle with herself, and she kept her inequalities of mood in
astonishing control, all things considered. She became interested in the
work in hand, and took some trifle of needlework to the study for the
final reading of the piece between Darco and her husband Paul, with
the manuscript before him, acted the whole comedy as brilliantly as
an arm-chair rendering could go, and Darco with notebook and pencil
listened in keenly attentive silence, note-taking here and there.

'Id is a gread vork,' he announced solemnly when it was all over. 'Id is
peautifully written, and that is your affair, younk Armstronk. But the
goncebtion is clorious, ant that is my affair. Vot? Not? I am Cheorge
Dargo, and I know my trade.'

They were both up at four o'clock next morning to catch the mail to
Calais, and Paul was able to leave Annette without severe misgiving.
Laurent had promised to look after her, and the improvement in her own
hopes appeared so manifest that he felt safe about her, except for those
slight inevitable uneasinesses which occur at such a time. But he
was only to be away for a month at the outside, and he had Laurent's
assurance that he might make his mind easy. Annette herself rose to see
Paul away, in spite of his remonstrances. She nestled by him whilst he
stood to drink his coffee in the gray dawn of the morning, in the great,
empty, echoing _salle a manger_, with Darco rolling about the house
like an exaggerated football impelled by unseen influences, and roaring
tempestuous orders like a ship's captain in a squall.

Never in his life had Paul felt so wholly tender as he did then towards
Annette. He had begun to read so many new meanings into her of late. She
seemed no longer the molluscous little creature he had once thought her,
but a woman, capable of much suffering, of some determination, of real
affection. He was leaving her at the very time at which she most needed
his guardianship and care, and at the hour, too, when she seemed first
really to confide in him and cling to him. His eyes were moist when he
held her in a last embrace, and ran into the street in answer to Darco's
final call. His collaborateur was already seated in the voiture, glo