The conventional living room was rendered gay by masses of spring flowers. Padding from vase to vase, Mme. Petrovskey inhaled their fragrance with triumphant nostrils. A tribute to her motherhood from some of Alexis’ admirers, she breathed them in luxuriantly.

Now that Alexis had become a personage again, there was no telling what the future might contain. Visions of reconciliation loomed enticingly before her. If he came to-night, and he would surely come (she had worded her letter with guile) she had that to suggest which ought to render him eternally grateful. The hated stumbling block, once removed from his path, he would turn to her again and she would bask not only in the vicarious sunshine of his fame, but in those benign social rays shed by his pinnacle amongst the Élite. And it would be she, his mother, who had thrust him there.

Not that she really hated Claire. Poor, dear child, she had been very useful up to the time of the marriage, and even afterwards—for a while! But now she was no longer desirable. The other woman could do so much more for Alexis. Abetted by fortune and prestige, his genius would soar untrammeled. Claire must be forced to see reason. Gently, of course, if possible. But if she refused (Mme. Petrovskey shrugged) drastic measures must be applied.

Besides, she was sick of the very sight of the girl. Heavy-bodied and heavy-eyed, she crept about the rooms like a doomed Madonna. Her idle days seemed to pass in a dread anticipation, as if the horizon were stunted, the whole future cramped into the next few weeks. That her thoughts did not progress beyond the birth of the child, Mme. Petrovskey was almost certain, although a deep-seated joy over Alexis’ success shone from the somber eyes, when she read the criticisms in the papers. After a concert, she would sometimes sit for hours, the articles crumpled in ardent hands, only showing animation when Dr. Elliott came around. Then she would dress with unusual care, and covering her clumsy little figure with a heavy coat, sally forth to dinner or the theater with a grateful air, very irritating to a bored mother-in-law. At such times, Mme. Petrovskey suspected Claire of using rouge. For the small face bloomed into unexpected beauty.

That Dr. Elliott found it so, was amusingly apparent to the watchful older woman, whose eyes, more subtle than those of Claire, pierced his armor to the palpitating, defenseless flesh. Decidedly, the man was in love with Claire. Whether this love had been declared was problematical and immaterial. It suited Mme. Petrovskey’s purpose, and provided her with a weapon almost invincible. That the weapon was poisoned, contrary to the laws of honorable warfare, troubled her not one whit.

And to-night the stage was set, the scene garnished for the blow. The time itself nicely calculated. To insure her tÊte-À-tÊte, Mme. Petrovskey had chosen an evening when she knew that Claire expected to go to the movies with the doctor. She had even taken the precaution to send Ito out. His stolid devotion to the girl might prove a nuisance. And she did not intend to risk any eavesdropping from behind pantry doors.

As the time approached for Alexis to come, her calm, superficially stolid, was agitated to the depths. Beyond a few words, after his recital, this was the first opportunity she had had for an interview, and the very utmost must be gleaned from it. There was no telling when another would be forthcoming; so unfilial had Alexis become. Perhaps when the fear of encountering Claire had been removed, his visits might become more frequent. Of the absurdity of hoping that he ever would live with her again, she was not guilty. When the bird has once flown, the nest soon becomes outgrown. It would not even be desirable. In the dazzling future, Alexis would necessarily reside (her own pompous word) elsewhere.

The weaving of these half-poetic, entirely vulgar dreams filled the woman with anticipatory satisfaction. When the door-bell shrilled, it surprised her. She responded in dignified leisure that belied the turmoil within.

“It’s Ito’s evening out,” she explained rather effusively.

Stiff, very correct, Alexis answered her smile with constraint. As he hung his hat and coat upon the rack, a wave of nausea sickened him; an influx of memories not to be borne. Not for anything in the world, except the veiled promise contained in his mother’s letter, would he have entered here again. He followed her into the living room, glancing about him apprehensively.

“You said Claire would not be at home,” he articulated thickly.

“And so she isn’t!” Mme. Petrovskey plumped herself into a large tapestry chair and motioned him to do likewise.

“She and Dr. Elliott have gone out on one of their little sprees.”

Her sprightly manner irritated Alexis unbearably, and he was silent.

“I thought it would be nice for us to be alone. Don’t you think so?”

“I have no desire to see Claire, as you know.”

“So I imagine, dear boy. But don’t let us speak of that now. First I want to congratulate you upon your success. It simply delights me. You’re twice as good as ever. More assured, more mature. Your rendering of the Brahm’s Concerto was perfection. Lauer was transported by it. He said you were the best pupil he had ever had.”

Alexis’s eyes lighted momentarily at the mention of his old master.

“He came around to see me afterwards and was—very kind,” he said almost eagerly.

“He ought to be pleased! Even Sascha doesn’t do him more credit!” she exclaimed with complacence.

But the glow had departed from Alexis’ face. He had not come to discuss music, and he wished she would get to the point.

Although she could not always comprehend his moods, his impatience did not escape her now.

“I suppose you are wondering why I wrote you to come to-night?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“May I speak plainly?”

“Why not?”

“It has not taken much intuition on my part to know that you would like to divorce Claire.”

He avoided the over-eager gaze. His mother’s attitude towards Claire had always filled him with distaste. “I think a divorce would be better for us both.”

His obvious reluctance made her impatient.

“What have you done about it?” she asked with a return of the imperious manner.

He raised offended brows, but replied quietly enough. “I have applied to Rome for an annulment.”

She laughed curtly.

“Do you think there is a chance of its being granted?”

“Perhaps not. But I have stated the facts and hope to get justice.”

Her lips curled disdainfully. “There isn’t the slightest chance for you, Alexis. Claire is a devoted daughter of the Church, and they won’t risk losing her for an agnostic like yourself. If I were you, I shouldn’t lay any hopes upon it, but put all my energy into procuring a divorce.”

“But Claire refuses to divorce me. It would be easy enough for her, God knows, if she wanted to!”

“On the charge of desertion, I suppose!” A smile played about the tiny mouth.

His anger disdained subterfuge. “On the charge of infidelity.”

She shook her head, mandarin-wise. “But that would ruin your career.”

“Why should it? People don’t go to hear an artist because he’s a woolly lamb. Music isn’t dependent upon the blue laws. If Puritans were able to interpret it, I know many a Symphony that would have to be discarded.”

Her laugh was full of camaraderie. “You are right. But suppose you should want to marry again? The scandal might prove a detriment to the lady.”

He looked disconcerted. It had never occurred to him that Anne’s reputation might suffer if his freedom came as the result of scandal. It had been abominably careless of him. But why worry since Claire refused to divorce him?

His mother noted his discomfiture with amusement. When she considered that he had sufficiently digested it, she tackled him once again.

“It is you who must do the divorcing,” she announced judicially.

“I?” He stared at her in bewilderment. “But that would be impossible. In the first place it would be dastardly. In the second, there are no grounds, as you know.”

“Are there not?” Her smile angered him.

“I’m sure I don’t know what we are talking about. We are getting nowhere. If you have any communication to make, please do so at once, as I have an engagement.”

The baby-blue stare narrowed into a slit. “Wasn’t it natural that I should desire to see my own son again?” she asked sweetly.

He looked sulky. “If you are anxious about money, arrangements are being made for both you and Claire, which ought to secure you an ample income. That is, if my strong right arm continues to wield the bow.”

“That is generous of you, my son.” She waved a gracious hand. A dissatisfied look crept into her eyes. “But since you insist upon being so frank, I may as well tell you that money has nothing to do with my invitation. I asked you to come because I can help you, if not in your career, at least in your happiness.”

“My happiness? I don’t understand you!”

She continued to smile blandly. “I think I can show you a way out of your marriage.”

“How?” His scornful eyes were incredulous.

Mme. Petrovskey smoothed her silken lap, as a cat smoothes its fur. “There is a man in Claire’s life, Alexis.”

“I don’t believe you!”

She nodded ponderously. “She is out with him now.”

“Oh, you mean the doctor?” There was comical relief in his voice. “What harm is there in that?”

“Much harm could be construed from it. Besides, the man is in love with her.”

Alexis stared. The idea of any one being in love with Claire seemed both preposterous and impertinent.

“What makes you think so?”

“He is here almost every day. They go out together at least one night a week.”

“He is probably sorry for her, or lonesome, or both! You’re not trying to insinuate there is anything wrong!” The male’s hatred of being betrayed, even when it affords him a loophole for escape rang in his voice.

“One must avoid the appearance of evil,” she said sanctimoniously.

“Nonsense. What are you driving at? If you don’t approve of what they are doing, why do you permit it, as Claire is presumably under your protection?”

“Sometimes it is better to let matters run their course.” She fixed her eyes upon him cunningly. A flicker of comprehension twisted his features.

“So you were willing to abet them?” he retorted with contempt. “‘Adultery made easy for beginners,’ or ‘Homely Hints from a Fond Mother-in-law!’ Oh, this is detestable! I am going!” He flung his hair out of his eyes and started towards the hall.

“I merely tried to help you,” she followed him with ponderous lightness. “You may be sorry that you didn’t take advantage of my advice.”

He started to put on his coat. “But I don’t believe any of this, mother. It is all such utter rot. Claire is incapable of such a thing.”

“Perhaps she is, and perhaps she isn’t! At any rate, how could she prove her innocence?”

She laid a heavy hand upon Alexis’s arm. He shrank away.

“Do you imagine I would ruin an innocent woman? What kind of a man do you think I am?”

She shrugged fat shoulders. “Not if it were avoidable, of course. But how do you know she is innocent? She has had every opportunity to deceive you. A lonely woman will do desperate things, Alexis. Love is a great temptation to a girl like Claire, and half a loaf is better than none!”

“But Claire! I can’t imagine Claire being unfaithful. She is the most loyal creature alive.”

“She may be loyal, but she is also passionate. You at least should retain some memory of that.” The innocent eyes concealed amusement.

He flushed. The memory of Claire’s surrenders was like a vague but abject nightmare. Yes, the girl possessed a lurid kind of passivity, a submission as unlike Anne’s goddess-like generosity as night from day. Mme. Petrovskey pursued her advantage.

“It remains to be seen which of the two traits is the stronger.”

“I believe I know. It would take Claire’s own words to convince me to the contrary.” But his manner was less ironical, almost receptive.

Mme. Petrovskey took up her theme complacently. “Think it over, Alexis. Don’t permit an obstinate girl to ruin your life. You love another woman——”

A dangerous gleam in his eye, he checked her quickly. “We will not speak of that!”

“Very well. Only, as I was going to say before, it is not as if you loved Claire and she could keep you. By clinging stubbornly to you, she is merely ruining her own life as well. I believe Dr. Elliott would marry her if she were free.”

A new eagerness flitted over Alexis’ face. “If I thought there was a chance of that!”

“She would have to be forced into it, of course. She is as obstinate about her religion as she is weak about you.”

“I don’t intend to force her! I’m sorry I came. When I received your letter I thought you would have something tangible to suggest. Something beside these brutalities.”

“I offer you freedom and you call me names!” The tiny mouth pursed with rage. “But wait a moment, I’m afraid you can’t go now. They’re back from the movies. Isn’t that the elevator?”

The blood receded from Alexis’s face. Yes, surely that was Claire’s voice approaching the door. Would to God he had never come!

A key clicked in the lock and Claire stood upon the threshold. Behind her Dr. Elliott turned white as he saw Alexis. Placing a mechanical arm about Claire, he piloted her in. She fell into a chair beside the door.

“Alexis!” Tears streamed from her eyes. Her voice was feeble.

He sprang forward with a cry of pity and bent over her. “I’m sorry I frightened you, Claire.”

“I’m so silly,” she murmured. “Only last night I dreamed that you had returned again!”

“Poor child!” His face contracted in a spasm of pain.

“I—I want to tell you how happy I am over your success! I heard you at the Philharmonic yesterday and—and it was glorious!”

“You are always so generous,” he felt broken with shame.

“Generous! You call it that?” she retorted scornfully. Drawing her cape about her carefully, she preceded them into the living room. “Come in, Robert, I want you to meet my—my husband,” she added, with a pathetic assumption of ease.

A grim expression on his face, the young doctor broke his silence.

“I can only stay a few minutes. I ought to go back to the hospital,” he said gruffly. But if Claire needed him, he would not fail her.

Mme. Petrovskey smiled, as she caught his belligerent eye. “Do stay, we will have a nice little chat.”

“I hear you have been to the movies,” said Alexis, after they had settled themselves more or less stiffly about the room. Why in hell didn’t the man get out?

“Dr. Elliott is very good to me,” broke in Claire naÏvely.

Alexis cursed inwardly. Did she expect him to thank the man for taking her off his hands?

“It is Mrs. Petrovskey who has been good,” retorted Elliott more gently.

“I shouldn’t place the guilt entirely upon her shoulders!” laughed Mme. Petrovskey with a kittenish air. “I have often feared that Dr. Elliott in his kindness of heart, must be neglecting his work. I assure you he and Claire have been inseparable all winter.”

Dr. Elliott glared. “I’m afraid you are exaggerating. But Mrs. Petrovskey’s occasional company has proved a great boon to a lonely chap like myself.”

“Occasional!” exclaimed Mme. Petrovskey. “I should hardly call it that, dear Dr. Elliott!”

“It has seemed so to me.”

“Ah, the young are so impetuous!” She raised innocent eyes to the ceiling. “They are never contented with less than all.”

“You choose to be playful,” said the doctor, with a guarded little smile.

Alexis admired the man’s restraint. He, himself, fidgeted uneasily. Did his mother have no decency at all?

“Aren’t we getting rather serious?” he demanded. What a ghastly scene! Why couldn’t the fellow go home? Perhaps he was in love with Claire, after all?

“It’s a serious subject.” Mme. Petrovskey was still sprightly. “Repressed desires are almost as serious as unrepressed.”

The doctor laughed. “Ah, now you are getting on familiar ground. When it comes to Freud, or his fellow Paul Prys,” his eye gleamed dangerously, “I can argue with the best of you.”

Mme. Petrovskey nodded gayly. “Do you follow the new method of free expression?”

“I believe that one’s desires, if decent, should be gratified.” He fixed his eyes upon Claire’s face with an expression at once baffling and affectionate.

Mme. Petrovskey bridled. “There are so many standards of decency, aren’t there? And that of a young doctor might be considered lax by an old fogy like myself.”

Alexis shot her a tortured glance. “Since when have you become so interested in Psycho-Analysis? This is getting too high-brow for Claire and me, isn’t it, Claire?”

She met his harried gaze with an apologetic smile at once pleading and listless. “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention.”

Mme. Petrovskey turned towards her punctiliously. Her eyes beneath the smile seemed to strip the girl to the bone, and Claire cowered away as from a limelight. “You had better listen, dear child. For the matter concerns you profoundly.”

“Concerns me?” she muttered inexplicably uneasy.

“Yes, indeed,” playfully. “We’re talking about the doctor’s repressed and unrepressed desires.”

“What have I to do with them?” Her voice was cold with dawning fear.

“We are trying to discover in which of the two pigeon-holes you belong.”

“Ah!” Claire’s pale lips parted on a cry. She half rose from her chair. Alexis sprang across the room to her side.

“This is too much!” he exclaimed. “Why do you torture the child?”

“Because Mme. Petrovskey wants me to confess that I love Claire!” Dr. Elliott’s tones rang clear.

They all looked at him in amazement. A calm exultation in his eyes, he faced them squarely.

“Can you deny it?” A smile of triumph played about the older woman’s mouth.

“I can. But I will not!”

Claire hid her face in shaking hands. “Oh, Robert,” she sobbed, “please don’t.”

He approached and stood over her with quiet strength.

“Why should I deny the most beautiful thing in my life? That would be to lower it to the level of Mme. Petrovskey’s insinuations.”

The latter started up from her chair with a cry of suppressed fury. The baby-blue orbs flashed hell-fire.

“You—you——!” she commenced. Then turned to Alexis with a resumption of her habitual sweetness. “What did I tell you? Was I not right?”

“Keep quiet,” he commanded. “You have made trouble enough for one evening!” He turned to Dr. Elliott. “So you are in love with my wife?”

The other man looked down upon him from his greater height. “I have done you no wrong, Petrovskey.”

Claire raised a white and streaming face.

“Oh Alexis, you do believe him, don’t you?”

He patted her trembling hand, with absent-minded kindliness. “Don’t worry, child. Of course I believe him.”

Robert Elliott grasped him by the shoulder. “You are a real man, Petrovskey. I didn’t know you had it in you!” he exclaimed naÏvely.

Alexis’ smile was a trifle awry. “You are wrong, Elliott. If I were a real man, all this would never have occurred.”

His mother interposed herself between them almost savagely.

“All this magnanimity looks very pretty. But what proof have you that they are not lying? I, for one, don’t believe in this blessed innocence. Many a divorce has been granted on less substantial grounds than these!”

Claire stumbled to her feet, and stood swaying against the table.

“You are a wicked woman! How dare you lie about me and Dr. Elliott? I shall not stay under the same roof with you for another night!” She moved blindly forward towards the corridor. Alexis pursued her.

“Where are you going? What are you going to do?”

She turned upon him like a hounded creature. “Let me alone, I am going to pack,” she cried at bay. “I am going to pack,” she repeated wildly. She stumbled down the corridor towards her room.

Mme. Petrovskey reseated herself. “Running away is hardly the action of an innocent woman!” she remarked.

“Be silent!” exclaimed Elliott sternly. But he was too late for Claire had heard.

“Oh!” With a gasping cry she faced them. Then crashed forward like a felled tree.

“You have killed her!” Alexis ran down the corridor, and knelt beside the small, prostrate figure. He was about to lift it in his arms when the doctor interfered.

“Put her down on her back. Here, let me do it.” He shifted Claire expertly. “Don’t you know that a fainting patient must never be lifted? It sometimes kills them, especially in her condition.”

“In her condition?” Alexis looked up from rubbing Claire’s hands. “What do you mean? Is her heart affected?”

Squatting upon his haunches the doctor uncorked his brandy flask. As he leaned over to pour the liquid between Claire’s teeth, he looked Alexis squarely in the eyes.

“Your wife is pregnant,” he said shortly. “It is time you knew it.”

An ashy pallor overspread Alexis’ face. His heart leaped sickeningly. Then tolled against his ribs like a knell. It tolled so raspingly—it tolled so loudly that all the world—that Anne herself must hear it.

“Why didn’t you let me know?” he demanded softly. Was he never to cease paying for the feeble nightmare which had made Claire his? “Why was I not told?” he repeated with the same irate quiet.

Robert Elliott looked at him with grudging compassion. So the fellow could feel after all? Well, it was time he did! A throb of hatred seared him. “She did not wish to have you know. It was a matter of pride. She had no use for your pity, she only wanted you——” he hesitated over the word, “your love.”

Before the suffering in the man’s eyes, Alexis lowered his own. They fell upon the pinched features of the swooning girl.

“She is coming to,” he whispered, between dry lips.

Like folded pansies, the dark eyes slowly unfurled. Into their shadowed depths Alexis plunged his agony and his shame. “Claire, what have I done to you?” he groaned.

The pansies opened wide. Terror crept into their wounded depths. The pale lips twisted.

“You have told him?” She looked up at Robert Elliott reproachfully.

He nodded. “Yes.” His voice died into a hoarse murmur.

“How dared you when I’d forbidden it?” she cried weakly. Great tears slid down the hollow cheeks. She suddenly burst into uncontrollable, frenzied sobs that shook the feeble body.

Fear gripped Alexis as he watched her writhe in a vain effort to control herself.

“Don’t, dear Claire,” he cried, touching with clumsy fingers a lock of hair which clung against the drenched cheek.

“I wanted to spare you this,” she gasped, raising drowned eyes to his.

A flood of shame swept over Alexis, together with an unbearable, wrenching pity. Pity for the suffering he had inflicted. Shame for the unheeded seed sowed so wantonly and without love. Despair that his heart should be empty of all save compassion. Futile, shameful anger against Claire that it was she, the unloved, and not Anne, who was to mother his first-born. Face drawn and gray, he bent over Claire in an agony of contrition.

“Don’t, Claire, don’t. You will hurt yourself!” He looked up at the doctor, who had risen and was trying to appear unconscious of a scene which was literally tearing at his very marrow. “Hadn’t we better carry her into her room and put her to bed, Elliott?”

The power of speech had deserted Elliott. He nodded. They were about to gather her up in their arms, but Claire pushed them away, almost with violence.

“No, I will not stop here another night, with Aunt. I couldn’t bear it!”

Alexis shot a desperate look at the other man, who shook his head gravely. “She had better be humored,” he said decisively.

Claire’s sobs grew fainter. She looked up at Dr. Elliott gratefully.

Alexis forced himself to a bitter decision. “How would you like to go to my apartment in Gramercy Park?” he asked with dreadful reluctance.

Surprise choked back Claire’s sobs. “Do you mean it? Wouldn’t I be awfully in your way?”

“Of course not. There is a day-bed in the studio where I can sleep. I have often used it.”

That was true enough. A burning mist clouded his eyes. He turned away to conceal it. With what memories of Anne was the alcove not hallowed?

Eyes upon his averted face, Claire’s lips quivered. “Have you given up your house in Long Island?”

He avoided her glance with a sense of pity. “I still have it until the first of April. However, I always sleep in town on concert days, and very often at other times. But you needn’t worry about being a nuisance, for I am leaving on tour the day after to-morrow.”

“Ah, yes, I had forgotten.” Claire’s voice sounded dreary. “There was something in the paper about it. If you will help me up, I think I’ll go and dress.”

Their arms beneath hers, she struggled to her feet.

“Do you feel able to dress?” asked Elliott as she swayed a little. “Why do you hurry?”

“Yes, oh yes,” she pushed the hair back from her damp brow. “I must go at once.”

She walked slowly towards her bedroom. The clumsy gait, the fragile, swollen body struck Alexis for the first time. Filled with compassion and a sick sort of repulsion of which he was fiercely ashamed, he turned to Dr. Elliott.

“Will you please see that Claire has a nurse? A nice, cheerful one. I don’t want her to be lonely. There is a cleaning woman who comes in by the day who will cook for them until we can procure some one better.”

“I’ll telephone for one.” Elliott shot a glance charged with meaning after the tragic figure retreating up the hall. “For God’s sake be kind to her, Petrovskey!” He whispered huskily, as Claire’s door closed behind her.

Alexis passed a hand over his trembling mouth. “I’ll try to, God knows! But you ought to have married her, Elliott. You could have made her happy!” he replied with aching humility.

They walked slowly back to the living room.

Elliott slipped into the ante-room to telephone. As he waited for his number there was a stoic, Indian savagery about his face. Wild, unbidden thoughts rose like green scum to the clear surface of his mind. If Claire’s child should die, all might yet be well. The last link between her and Alexis sundered, she might possibly be induced to give him up forever. But if—it lived——! With a knowing leer, temptation nudged his elbow, puffing its vile breath into his clean nostrils. He shook the beast off angrily and responded to the operator’s voice when it came with detached calm.

Meanwhile, Alexis had flung himself into a chair beside the living-room table, burying his face upon its surface. For him the radiant dream was over. He had awakened to the same grim and joyless world which had once before tried to slay him.

Mme. Petrovskey had come out from her room at the sound of their return. She approached Alexis stealthily. Her bulk cast a bloated shadow on the wall. It crouched over him like a beast of prey. “So you have let yourself be conquered by a nobody, an unloved waif? Fie, you are weak! You are allowing yourself to be dragged into a mediocrity more loathsome than death. That is not for you. You are a genius. Spread your wings, fly away before you lose all capacity to soar. Fly away! Your bird of paradise awaits you. Do such as you mate with the sparrows?”

His mother’s words, or his own subconscious mind? What matter? It voiced his weeping soul.