“Rex, I must. Don’t make it so hard for me!” Tears filled her eyes. He kissed her for answer, without speaking. “Think! think of all she did for me; saved me; fed me, clothed me, taught me when she believed I had only voice and talent enough to support myself by teaching. It was half a year before she and Monsieur began to think I could ever make them any return for their care of me. And all that time she was like a mother to me. And now she has told everyone her hopes of me. If I fail she will be ridiculed. You know Paris. She and Monsieur have enemies who will say there never was any pupil, nor any debut expected. Perhaps she will lose her prestige. The fashion may turn to some other teacher. You know what malice can do with ridicule in Paris. Let me sing for her this once, make her one great success, win her one triumph, and then never, never sing again for any soul but you—my husband!” Her voice sank at the last words, from its eager pleading, to an exquisite modest sweetness. “But—if you fail?” “I shall not fail. I have never doubted that I should have a success. Perhaps it is because for myself I do not care, that I have no fear. When I had lost you—I only thought of that. And now that I have found you again—!” She clung to him in passionate silence. “And I may not see your debut?” “If you come I shall surely fail! I must forget you. I must think only of my part. What do I care for the house full of strange faces? I will make them all rise up and shout my name. But if you were there—Ah! I should have no longer any courage! Promise me to come only on the second night.” “But if you do fail, I may come and take you immediately before Monsieur the Maire?” “If you please!” she whispered demurely. And they both laughed, the old happy-children laugh of the Atelier. “I suppose you are bad enough to hope that I will fail,” added she presently, with a little _moue._ “Yvonne,” said Rex earnestly, “I hope that you will succeed. I know you will, and I can wait for you a few weeks more.” “We have waited for our happiness two years. We will make the happiness of others now first, n’est ce pas?” she whispered. The sky began to glow and the house was astir. Rex knew how it would soon be talking, but he cared for nothing that the world could do or say. “Ah! we will be happy! Think of it! A little house near the Parc Monceau, my studio there, Clifford, Elliott, Rowden—Bra—- all of them coming again! And it will be my wife who will receive them!” She placed a little soft palm across his lips. “Taisez-vous, mon ami! It is too soon! See the morning! I must go. There! yes—one more!—my love, Adieu!” CHAPTER XVI. Fewer tourists and more hunters had been coming to the Lodge of late; the crack of the rifle sounded all day. There was great talk of a hunt which the duke would hold in September, and the colonel and Rex were invited. But though September was now only a few days off, the colonel was growing too restless to wait.