On a night of unnatural excitement Claude had come to a crude resolution. He kept to it, at first only by a strong effort, during the days and the nights which followed, calling upon his will with a recklessness he had never known before, a recklessness which made him sometimes feel hard and almost brutal. He was "out for" success on the large scale, and he was now fiercely determined to win it. Within him the real man seemed to recede like a thing sensitive seeking a hiding-place. Sometimes, during these strange and crowded days and nights, he felt as if he were losing himself in the turmoil around him and within him. And the wish came to him to lose himself, and to have done for ever with that self which once he had cherished, but which was surely of no use, of no value at all, in the violent blustering world.

Now and then he saw the pale shining of the lamp in the quiet studio, where he had dwelt with the dear children of his imagination; now and then he listened, and seemed to hear the silence there. Then the crowd closed about him, the noises of life rushed upon him, and the Claude Heath of those far-off days seemed to pass by him fantastically on the way to eternal darkness. And, using his will with fury, he cried out to the fugitive, "Go! Go!" as to something shameful that must not be seen.

Always he was suffering, as a man only suffers when he tries to do violence to himself, when he treats himself as an enemy. But when he had time he strove to sneer at his own suffering. Coolness, hardness, audacity, these were the qualities needed in life as he knew it now; swiftness not sensitiveness, boldness not delicacy. The world was not gentle enough for the trembling qualities which vibrate at every touch of emotion, giving out subtle music. And he would nevermore wish it gentle. Things as they are! Fall down and worship them! Accommodate yourself to them lest you be the last of fools!

Claude acted, and carried on by excitement, he acted well. He was helped by his natural inclination to meet people half-way when he had to meet them. And he was helped, too, by the cordiality, the quickness of response, in those about him. Charmian did her part with an energy and brilliance to which the apparent change in him gave an impetus. Hitherto she had tried to excite in Claude the worldly qualities which she supposed to make for success. Now Claude excited them in her. His vivacity, his intensity, his power to do varied work, and especially the dominating faculty which he now began to display, sometimes almost amazed her. She said to herself, "I have never known him till now!" She said to Alston Lake, "Isn't it extraordinary how Claude is coming out?" And she began to look up to him in a new way, but with the worldly eyes, not with the mild or the passionate eyes of the spirit.

Others, too, were impressed by the change in Claude. After the luncheon at Sherry's Mrs. Shiffney said, with a sort of reluctance, to Charmian:

"The air of America seems to agree with your composer. Has he been on Riverside Drive getting rid of the last traces of the Puritan tradition? Or is it the theater which has stirred him up? He's a new man."

"There's a good deal more in Claude than people were inclined to suppose in London," said Charmian, trying to speak with light indifference, but secretly triumphing.

"Evidently!" said Mrs. Shiffney. "Perhaps, now that you've forced him to come out into the open, he enjoys being a storm-center, as they call it out here."

"Oh, but I didn't force him!"

"Playfully begged him not to come, I meant."

Claude was sitting a little way off talking to Susan Fleet. Mrs. Shiffney had "managed" this. She wanted to feel how things were through the woman. Then perhaps she would tackle the man. At lunch it had seemed to her as if success were in the air. Had she always been mistaken in her judgment of Claude Heath! Had Charmian seen more clearly and farther than she had? She felt more interested in Charmian than she had ever felt before, and disliked her, in consequence, much more than formerly. How Charmian would triumph if the Heath opera were a success! How unbearable she would be! In fancy Mrs. Shiffney saw Charmian enthroned, and "giving herself" a thousand airs. Mrs. Shiffney had never forgiven Charmian for taking possession of Claude. She did not hate her for that. Charmian had only got in the way of a whim. But Mrs. Shiffney disliked those who got in the way of her whims, and resented their conduct, as the spoilt child resents the sudden removal of a toy. Without hating Charmian she dearly wished for the failure of the great enterprise, in which she knew Charmian's whole heart and soul were involved. And she wished it the more on account of the change in Claude Heath. In his intensity, his vivacity, his resolution, she was conscious of fascination. He puzzled her. "There really is a great deal in him," she said to herself. And she wished that some of that "great deal" could be hers. As it could not be hers, unless her judgment of a man, not happily come to, and now almost angrily accepted, was at fault, she wished to punish. She could not help this. But she did not desire to help it.

Mrs. Shiffney separated from the Heaths that day without speaking of the "libretto-scandal," as the papers now called the invention of Madame Sennier. They parted apparently on cordial terms. And Mrs. Shiffney's last words were:

"I'm coming to see you one day in your eyrie at the Saint Regis. I take no sides where art is in question, and I want both the operas to be brilliant successes."

She had said not a word about the rehearsals at the New Era Opera House.

Charmian was almost disappointed by her silence. She had turned over and over in her mind Claude's words about the verdict in advance. She continued to dwell upon them mentally after the meeting with Mrs. Shiffney. By degrees she became almost obsessed by the idea of Mrs. Shiffney as arbiter of Claude's destiny and hers.

Mrs. Shiffney's position had always fascinated Charmian, because it was the position she would have loved to occupy. Even in her dislike, her complete distrust of Mrs. Shiffney, Charmian was attracted by her. Now she longed with increasing intensity to use Mrs. Shiffney as a test.

Rehearsals of Claude's opera were being hurried on. Crayford was determined to produce his novelty before the Metropolitan crowd produced theirs.

"They've fixed the first," he said. "Then it's up to us to be ready by the twenty-eighth, and that's all there is to it. We'll get time enough to die all right afterward. But there aren't got to be no dying nor quitting now. We've fixed the locusts, and now we'll start in to fix all the rest of the cut-out."

He had begun to call Claude's opera "the cut-out" because he said it was certain to cut out Sennier's work. The rumors about the weakness of Sennier's libretto had put the finishing touch to his pride and enthusiasm. Thenceforth he set no bounds to his expectations.

"We've got a certainty!" he said. "And they know it."

His energy was volcanic. He knew neither rest nor the desire to rest. His season so far had been successful, much more successful than any former season of his. He knew that he was making way with the great New York public, and he was carried on by the vigor which flames up in a strong and determined man who believes himself to be almost within reach of the satisfaction of his greatest desire.

Claude, in his new character of the man determined to win a great popular triumph, appealed forcibly to Crayford.

"I've made him over!" he exclaimed to Charmian, almost with exultation. "He's a man now. When I lit out on him he was—well, well, little lady, don't you begin to fire up at me! All I mean is that Claude knows how to carry things with him now. Look how he's stood up against all the nonsense about the libretto! Why, he's right down enjoyed it. And the first night the pressmen started in he was like a man possessed, talked about his honor, and all that kind of rubbish. Now he says 'Stir it up! It's all for the good of the opera!' Cane's fairly mad about him, says he's on the way to be the best boom-center that ever made a publicity agent feel young. I'm proud of him! And he's moving all the time. He'll get there and no mistake!"

"I always knew Claude would rise to his chance if he got it," she said.

"He's got it now, don't you worry yourself. Not one man in a million has such a chance at his age. I tell you, Claude is a made man!"

A made man! Charmian felt a thrill at her heart. But again she longed for a verdict from outside, for a verdict from Mrs. Shiffney.

In the midst of the tumult of her life one day, very soon after the lunch at Sherry's, she begged Susan Fleet to come to see her. That day Claude and she had been with Gillier at the theater. As they had ignored Mrs. Shiffney's treachery in the affair of the libretto, so they had ignored Gillier's insulting behavior to them at Djenan-el-Maqui. Against his will he was with them now in the great enterprise. They had resolved to be charming to him, and had taken care to be so. And Gillier, delighted with the notoriety that was his, his conceit decked out with feathers, met them half-way. He was impressed by the situation which Crayford's powerful efforts had created for them. He was moved by the marked change in Claude. These people did not seem to him the same husband and wife he had known in the hidden Arab house at Mustapha. They had gained immeasurably in importance. Comment rained upon them. Conflict swirled about them. Expectations centered upon them. And they had the air of those upon whose footsteps the goddess, Success, is following. Gillier began to lose his regret for his lost opportunity. He was insensibly drawn to the Heaths by the spell of united effort. Now that Claude did not seem to care twopence for him, or for anyone else, Gillier began to respect him, to think a good deal of him. In Charmian he had always been aware of certain faculties which often make for success.

On the day when Charmian was expected to see Susan Fleet she had just come from an afternoon rehearsal which had gone well. Gillier had been almost savagely delighted with the performance of Enid Mardon, who sang and acted the rÔle of the heroine. He knew little of music, but in the scene rehearsed Claude had introduced a clever imitation, if not an exact reproduction, of the songs of Said Hitani and his companions. This had aroused the enthusiasm of Gillier, who had a curious love of the country where he had spent the wild years of his youth. It had been evident both to Charmian and to Claude that he began to have great hopes of the opera. Charmian had become so exultant on noticing this that she had been unable to refrain from saying to Gillier, "Do you begin to believe in it?" As she sat now waiting for Susan she remembered his answer, "Madame, if the whole opera goes like that scene—well!" He had finished with a characteristic gesture, throwing out his strong hands and smiling at her. She almost felt as if she liked Gillier. She began to find excuses for his former conduct. He was a poor man struggling to make his way, terribly anxious to succeed. Madame Sennier had "got at" him. It was not unnatural, perhaps, that he had wished to associate himself with Jacques Sennier. Of course he had had no right to suggest the withdrawal of his libretto from Claude. That had been insulting. But still—that day Charmian found room in her heart for charity. She had not felt so happy, so safe, for a very long time. It was almost as if she held success in her hand, as a woman may hold a jewel and say, "It is mine!"

A slight buzzing sound told her that there was someone at the outer door of the lobby. In a moment Susan walked in, looking as usual temperate, kind, and absolutely unconscious of herself. She was warmly wrapped in a fur given to her by Mrs. Shiffney. When she had taken it off and sat down beside Charmian in the over-heated room, Charmian began at once to use her as a receptacle. She proceeded to pour her exultation into Susan. The rehearsal had greatly excited her. She was full of the ardent impatience of one who had been patient by force of will in defiance of natural character, and who now felt that a period was soon to be put to her suffering and that she was to enter into her reward. As, long ago, in an Algerian garden, she had used Susan, she used her now. And Susan sat quietly listening, with her odd eyes dropping in their sockets.

"Oh, Susan, do take off your gloves!" Charmian exclaimed presently. "You are going to stay a good while, aren't you?"

"Yes, if you like me to."

"I should like to be with you every day for hours. You do me good. We'll have tea."

She went to the telephone, came back quickly, sat down again, and continued talking enthusiastically. When the tea-table was in front of her, and the elderly German waiter had gone, she said:

"Isn't it wonderful? I shall never forget how you spoke of destiny to me when we were by the little island. It was then, I think, that I felt it was my fate to link myself with Claude, to help him on. Do you remember what you said?"

"That perhaps it was designed that you should teach Mr. Heath."

"Don't say mister—on such a day as this!"

"Claude, then."

"And, Susan, I don't want to seem vain, but I have taught him, I have taught him to know and rely on himself, to believe in himself, in his genius, to dominate. He's marvellously changed. Everyone notices it. You do, of course!"

"There is a change. And I remember saying that perhaps it was designed that you should learn from him. Do you recollect that?"

Charmian was handing Susan her tea-cup.

"Oh—yes," she said.

She looked at Susan as the latter took the cup with a calm and steady hand.

"What excellent tea!" observed Susan.

"Is it? Susan!"

"Well?"

"I believe you are very reserved."

"No, I don't think so."

"Yes, you keep half your thoughts about things and people entirely to yourself."

"I think most of us do that."

"About me, for instance! I've been talking a great deal to you in here. And you've been listening, and thinking."

There was an uneasy sound in Charmian's voice.

"Yes. Didn't you wish me to listen?"

"I suppose I did. But you've been thinking. What have you been thinking?"

"That it's a long journey up the ray," said Susan, with a sort of gentle firmness.

"Ah—the ray! I remember your saying that to me long ago."

"We've got a great deal to learn, I think, as well as to teach."

Charmian was silent for a minute.

"Do you mean that you think I only care to teach, that I—that I am not much of a pupil?" she said at length.

"Perhaps that is putting it too strongly. But I believe your husband had a great deal to give."

"Claude! Do you? But yes, of course—Susan!" Charmian's voice changed, became almost sharply interrogative. "Do you mean that Claude could teach me more than I could ever teach him?"

"It is impossible for me to be sure of that."

"Perhaps. But, tell me, do you think it is so?"

"I am inclined to."

Charmian felt as if she flushed. She was conscious of a stir of something that was like anger within her. It hurt her very much to think that perhaps Susan put Claude higher than her. But she controlled the expression of what she felt, and only said, perhaps a little coldly:

"It ought to be so. He is so much cleverer than I am."

"I don't think I mean that. It isn't always cleverness we learn from."

"Goodness then!"

Charmian forced herself to smile.

"Do you think me far below Claude from the moral point of view?" she added, with an attempt at laughing lightness.

"It isn't that either. But I think he has let out an anchor which reaches bottom, though perhaps at present he isn't aware of it. And I'm not sure that you ever have. By the way, I've a message from Adelaide for you."

"Yes?"

"She wants to know how your rehearsals are going."

"Wonderfully well, as I said."

Charmain spoke almost gravely. Her exultant enthusiasm had died away for the moment.

"And, if it is allowed, she would like to go to one. Can she?"

Charmian hesitated. But the strong desire for Mrs. Shiffney's verdict overcame a certain suddenly born reluctance of which she was aware, and she said:

"I should think so. Why not? Even a spy cannot destroy the merit of the enemy's work by wishing."

Susan said nothing to this.

"You must come with her if she does come," Charmian added.

She was still feeling hurt. She had looked upon Susan as her very special friend. She had let Susan see into her heart. And now she realized that Susan had criticized that heart. At that moment Charmian was too unreasonable to remember that criticism is often an inevitable movement of the mind which does not touch the soul to change it. Her attempt at cordiality was, therefore, forced.

"I don't know whether she will want me," said Susan. "But at any rate I shall be there for the first night."

"Ah—the first night!" said Charmian.

Again she changed. With the thought of the coming epoch in her life and Claude's her vexation died.

"It's coming so near!" she said. "There are moments when I want to rush toward it, and others when I wish it were far away. It's terrible when so much hangs on one night, just three or four hours of time. One does need courage in art. But Claude has found it. Yes, Susan, you are right. Claude is finer than I am. He is beginning to dominate me here, as he never dominated me before. If he triumphs—and he will, he shall triumph!—I believe I shall be quite at his feet."

She laughed, but tears were not far from her eyes. This period she was passing through in New York was tearing at her nerves with teeth and claws although she scarcely knew it.

Susan, who had seen clearly the hurt she had inflicted, moved, came nearer to Charmian, and gently took one of her hands.

"My dear," she said. "Does it matter so much which it is?"

"Matter! Of course it does. Everything hangs upon it—for us, I mean, of course. We have given up everything for the opera, altered our lives. It is to be the beginning of everything for us."

Susan looked steadily at Charmian with her ugly, beautiful eyes.

"Perhaps it might be that in either case," she said. "Dear Charmian, I think preaching is rather odious. I hope I don't often step into the pulpit. But we've talked of many things, of things I care for and believe in. May I tell you something I think with the whole of my mind, and even more than that as it seems to me?"

"Yes. Yes, Susan!"

"I think the success or failure only matters really as it affects character, and the relation existing between your soul and your husband's. The rest scarcely counts, I think. And so, if I were to pray about such a thing as this opera, pray with the impulse of a friend who really does care for you, I should pray that your two souls might have what they need, what they must be asking for, whether that is a great success, or a great failure."

The door opened and Claude came in on the two women.

"Did I hear the word failure?" he said, smiling, as he went up to Susan and took her hand. "Charmian, I wonder you allow it to be spoken in our sitting-room."

"I—I didn't—we weren't," she almost stammered. But quickly recovering herself, she said:

"Susan has come with a message from Adelaide Shiffney."

"You mean about being let in at a rehearsal?"

"Yes," said Susan.

"I've just been with Mrs. Shiffney. She called at the theater after you had gone, Charmian. I drove to the Ritz with her and went in."

Charmian looked narrowly at her husband.

"Then of course she spoke about the rehearsal?"

"Yes. Madame Sennier dropped in upon us. What do you think of that?"

Charmian thought that his face and manner were strangely hard.

"Madame Sennier! And did you stay, did you—"

"Of course. I thanked her for giving the opera such a lift with her slanders about the libretto. I tackled her. It was the greatest fun. I only wish Crayford had been there to hear me."

"How did she take it?" asked Charmian, glancing at Susan, and feeling uncomfortable.

"She was furious, I think. I hope so. I meant her to be. But she didn't say much, except that the papers were full of lies, and nobody believed them except fools. When she was going I gave her a piece of news to comfort her."

"What was that?"

"That my opera will be produced the night before her husband's."

Susan got up.

"Well, I must go," she said. "I've been here a long time, and daresay you both want to rest."

"Rest!" exclaimed Claude. "That's the last thing we want, isn't it, Charmian?"

He helped Susan to put on her fur.

"There's another rehearsal to-night after the performance of AÏda. You see it's a race, and we mean to be in first. I wish you could have seen Madame Sennier's face when I told her we should produce on the twenty-eighth."

He laughed. But neither Charmian nor Susan laughed with him. As Susan was leaving he said:

"You come from the enemy's camp, but you do wish us success, don't you?"

"I have just been telling Charmian what I wish you," answered Susan gently, with her straight and quiet look.

"Have you?" He wheeled round to Charmian. "What was it?"

Charmian looked taken aback.

"Oh—what was it?"

"Yes?" said Claude.

"The—the very best! Wasn't it, Susan?"

"Yes. I wished you the very best."

"Capital! Too bad, you are going!"

He went with Susan to the door.

When he came back he said to Charmian:

"Susan Fleet is very quiet, the least obtrusive person I ever met. But she's strange. I believe she sees far."

His face and manner had changed. He threw himself down in a chair and leaned his head against the back of it.

"I'm going to relax for a minute, Charmian. It's the only way to rest. And I shall be up most of the night."

He shut his eyes. His whole body seemed to become loose.

"She sees far, I think," he murmured, scarcely moving his sensitive lips.

Charmian sat watching his pale forehead, his white eyelids.

And New York roared outside.