Madame tinkled mildly and prettily on the piano after him--too prettily of course, and not very accurately. The little ineffective notes were like a pee-wit chirping in a storm. In an instant Monsieur Gérard had swept her from the music-stool almost on to the floor. “You have no more music in you than a fly!” he broke off abruptly to inform her, then he sat down in her place and roared in velvet with magnificent effect. Madame, shaken and reduced from triumph to the verge of tears, quivered for a little in the window-seat; but even then her prize was still within her grasp--Monsieur had simply for the moment forgotten her. She was capable, if she had waited, of reminding him successfully. Alas! she had that fatal longing to help which reduces the greatest women to the level of a nuisance. She could not let herself be forgotten even for a moment--even for his art. She would go back and turn over the leaves for Raoul. He frowned, he swore under his breath, he shook his heavy head at her; but she went on turning over the leaves--he was not playing to the score, he did not want his leaves turned over--her eager, fluttering figure drove him frantic. In ten minutes he banged the piano lid down, and threw the score on the carpet. He told her before Léon, before Rose, in the drawing-room of the Villa degli Angeli that she was an intrusive insect! There was a horrible pause. Léon approached Madame in a state of mingled chivalry and satisfaction. She was a pitiable figure as she stood there biting at her dainty lace handkerchief to keep the tears back; her face was very white under its layer of powder. Probably it would have been better if she had sat down. She simply stood with imploring, helpless eyes fixed upon the angry tyrant before her. No angry man likes to be looked at helplessly. Monsieur Gérard glared at her--then he made the gulf that had come between them impassable. “Understand!” he shouted, turning the music still on the piano to and fro, as if he were making hay, “To-night I go to Naples! I cannot stand more of this! I will go to Naples for one night, for two--for three! You must remain here! I go to Naples!” Madame’s eyes went from her husband to Léon. Léon’s eyes were fixed on hers in pity, in forgiveness--and were they also fixed a little in expectation? He knew, and Madame knew, precisely the purpose of Monsieur Gérard in going to Naples. Rose did not understand as much as this, but she thought it was very wicked of Monsieur Gérard to go away from his wife on their honeymoon because she tried to turn over the leaves of his music. She got up and crossed the room towards Madame. It was Rose who put an end to the unendurable silence.