It was on the evening of the day on which he had told Will of Miall & Welling’s downfall. After having ascertained the truth of the report, he had gone to spend the remainder of the day at his club, in talking, reading, and dining; and when he did think of going round to the theatre, he found that the piece in which Annie Brunel played would be over, and she gone home. This was as he wished. So he made his way up the well-worn wooden steps until he reached the "flies," where he found Mr. Melton, seated on the drum which rolled up the drop-scene, in earnest talk with a carpenter. On seeing the Count, the man walked away, and Mr. Melton rose. "Welcome back to England!" said the manager, rather nervously. "I have been most anxious to see you." "Ah," said the Count. "Indeed, the strangest thing has happened—completely floored me—never heard the like," continued Mr. Melton, hurriedly. "Have you seen Miss Brunel?" "No," said the Count. "Not since you returned?" "No." "You are not acquainted with her resolution?" "No." "Then let me tell you what happened not half an hour ago in this very theatre. You see that scenery? It’s all new. The dresses are new—new music, new decorations, a new theatre, and—d——n it all!—it’s enough to make a man mad!" "But what is it?" asked the Count of the abnormally excited manager. "A few minutes ago Miss Brunel comes to me and says, ’Mr. Melton, a word with you.’ "’Certainly,’ said I. "Then she turned a little pale; and had that curious look in her eyes that she used to wear on the stage, you know; and said, clearly, ’I am not going to act any more.’ "When I had recovered breath, I said: "’Pardon me, Miss Brunel; you must. Look at the expense I have been put to in getting up this revival——’ "And then she grew excited, as if she were half-mad, and implored me not to compel her to fulfil her engagement. She said her acting was a failure; that everybody knew it was a failure; that she had an invincible repugnance to going on the stage again; and that nothing would tempt her to begin a new piece, either with me or with anybody else. I can assure you, Count Schönstein, now that I think over it, there never was a finer scene in any play than she acted then—with her despair, and her appeals, and her determination. I thought at first she was bewitched; and then I declare she was so nearly on the point of bewitching me, that I was almost agreeing to everything she asked, only——" "Only what?" "Only I remembered that the theatre was not only my own affair, and that I had no business to compromise its interests by—you understand?" "Quite right—quite right," said the Count, hastily. "And then——?" "Then she left." "But what—what is the reason of her wishing to leave the stage?" "I don’t know." "Had she heard any—any news, for example?" "I don’t know." "Why, Melton, what a fellow you are!" cried the Count, peevishly. "I’m sure you could easily have found out, if you cared, what she meant by it."