Although the immediate result of Lavirotte's first engagement in London was so modest, still he had gained a start, and that, in his profession, was a great deal. O'Donnell was not impatient. His position was grave, even serious. But still he did not give way. Like Lavirotte, he had now abandoned all extravagant pretensions, and would have been very glad to take the most modest salary. Neither he nor Lavirotte would even yet accept any subsidiary part. Either would have gladly gone to the provinces for six guineas a week, but neither would take second part. Lavirotte was offered the leadership of the tenors in a chorus. This he flatly refused, and with heat. He came to Eugene and told him what he had been offered, and Eugene agreed with him in thinking there was more affront than flattery in the offer. "Let them," cried Eugene, indignantly, "keep their five guineas a week. I'd rather see you, Dominique, back at the old work again than degrade yourself by accepting such a position." From time to time Eugene received small sums from Glengowra. Lavirotte had no such resources, and one day he came in to Eugene and said: "I am paying eight shillings a week for my room, and there's St. Prisca's Tower idle all this time. I am not, you know, as rich as Rothschild, and what is the good of throwing away money! I'm going to live in the tower again." "For heaven's sake, don't do anything of the kind!" said Eugene. "Why not?" asked Lavirotte. "Because the place is haunted," said O'Donnell, with a shudder. "You are not such a fool," said Lavirotte, "as to believe anything so superstitious." "I don't mean what I say literally, but poor Mr. Crawford lost his life there. You were very near losing your life there, and upon the sad occasion of your last visit to London you put up there. To say the least of it, that tower must have a very gloomy aspect in your mind." "Gloom or no gloom," said Lavirotte bitterly, "eight shillings a week are eight shillings a week. Besides," he added, changing his tone and adopting a lighter manner, "I know they don't care for my caterwauling in the house I'm living in now, and St. Prisca's Tower is a splendid place for practising in. You might shout your voice away there, and not a soul would hear you. Eugene, you must come and practise with me there. I haven't got a piano, that's true, and the way up is a very rough-and-ready one. But anyway you'll know you're welcome, and we can puzzle along with a fork." He took the fork out of his waistcoat pocket, struck it, sang the note, and then took the octave above. "True, isn't it, Eugene?" he cried, laughingly. "As the tone of the steel itself," cried Eugene. "Let us try the garden bit in unison. Here's 'Faust.'" "Damn 'Faust'!" said Lavirotte. "Come on, I'll set you going:

"No," said Eugene. "Not that. I remember----" "And do you think I forget?"