"It's a pity, a great pity ..." he said. "She is an excellent artist.... I give you my word for it! Perhaps she is not at her best to-day. You must give her another trial." "All right," said Christophe. "But it is a waste of time." He went on with the rehearsal. It was worse than ever. He found it hard to go on to the end: it got on his nerves: his remarks to the singer, from cold and polite, became dry and cutting, in spite of the obvious pains she was taking to satisfy him, and the way she ogled him by way of winning his favor. The impresario prudently stopped the rehearsal just when it seemed to be hopeless. By way of softening the bad effect of Christophe's remarks, he bustled up to the singer and paid her heavy compliments. Christophe, who was standing by, made no attempt to conceal his impatience, called the impresario, and said: "There's no room for argument. I won't have the woman. It's unpleasant, I know: but I did not choose her. Do what you can to arrange the matter." The impresario bowed frigidly, and said coldly: "I can't do anything. You must see M. Roussin." "What has it got to do with M. Roussin? I don't want to bother him with this business," said Christophe. "That won't bother him," said Sylvain Kohn ironically. And he pointed to Roussin, who had just come in. Christophe went up to him. Roussin was in high good humor, and cried: "What! Finished already? I was hoping to hear a bit of it. Well, maestro, what do you say? Are you satisfied?" "It's going quite well," said Christophe. "I don't know how to thank you...." "Not at all! Not at all!" "There is only one thing wrong." "What is it? We'll put it right. I am determined to satisfy you." "Well ... the singer. Between ourselves she is detestable." The beaming smile on Roussin's face froze suddenly. He said, with some asperity: "You surprise me, my dear fellow." "She is useless, absolutely useless," Christophe went on. "She has no voice, no taste, no knowledge of her work, no talent. You're lucky not to have heard her!..." Roussin grew more and more acid. He cut Christophe short, and said cuttingly: "I know Mlle. de Sainte-Ygraine. She is a very talented artiste. I have the greatest admiration for her. Every man of taste in Paris shares my opinion." And he turned his back on Christophe, who saw him offer his arm to the actress and go out with her. He was dumfounded, and Sylvain Kohn, who had watched the scene delightedly, took his arm and laughed, and said as they went down the stairs of the theater:-- "Didn't you know that she was his mistress?"