Now that Alexis had become a personage again, there was no telling what the future might contain. Visions of reconciliation loomed enticingly before her. If he came to-night, and he would surely come (she had worded her letter with guile) she had that to suggest which ought to render him eternally grateful. The hated stumbling block, once removed from his path, he would turn to her again and she would bask not only in the vicarious sunshine of his fame, but in those benign social rays shed by his pinnacle amongst the élite. And it would be she, his mother, who had thrust him there. Not that she really hated Claire. Poor, dear child, she had been very useful up to the time of the marriage, and even afterwards--for a while! But now she was no longer desirable. The other woman could do so much more for Alexis. Abetted by fortune and prestige, his genius would soar untrammeled. Claire must be forced to see reason. Gently, of course, if possible. But if she refused (Mme. Petrovskey shrugged) drastic measures must be applied. Besides, she was sick of the very sight of the girl. Heavy-bodied and heavy-eyed, she crept about the rooms like a doomed Madonna. Her idle days seemed to pass in a dread anticipation, as if the horizon were stunted, the whole future cramped into the next few weeks. That her thoughts did not progress beyond the birth of the child, Mme. Petrovskey was almost certain, although a deep-seated joy over Alexis' success shone from the somber eyes, when she read the criticisms in the papers. After a concert, she would sometimes sit for hours, the articles crumpled in ardent hands, only showing animation when Dr. Elliott came around. Then she would dress with unusual care, and covering her clumsy little figure with a heavy coat, sally forth to dinner or the theater with a grateful air, very irritating to a bored mother-in-law. At such times, Mme. Petrovskey suspected Claire of using rouge. For the small face bloomed into unexpected beauty. That Dr. Elliott found it so, was amusingly apparent to the watchful older woman, whose eyes, more subtle than those of Claire, pierced his armor to the palpitating, defenseless flesh. Decidedly, the man was in love with Claire. Whether this love had been declared was problematical and immaterial. It suited Mme. Petrovskey's purpose, and provided her with a weapon almost invincible. That the weapon was poisoned, contrary to the laws of honorable warfare, troubled her not one whit. And to-night the stage was set, the scene garnished for the blow. The time itself nicely calculated. To insure her tête-à-tête, Mme. Petrovskey had chosen an evening when she knew that Claire expected to go to the movies with the doctor. She had even taken the precaution to send Ito out. His stolid devotion to the girl might prove a nuisance. And she did not intend to risk any eavesdropping from behind pantry doors.