They found the composer at home. "This is my friend O'Donnell, Fraser. You have often heard me speak of him. We were rival tenors in Glengowra and Rathclare. We were fellow-students at the _Scala_, and now we're going to be rival tenors in your opera, 'The Maid of Athens.'" Fraser laughed good-humouredly, and said: "All right. If, Mr. O'Donnell, you sing as well as our friend Lavirotte, we shall be very lucky in our tenors." "He sings better," said Lavirotte, with a slight darkening of the face. "There is one thing I cannot rival him in, certainly," said O'Donnell, "and that is generosity. I have no desire to compete with my dear friend as a tenor. He said there was a second part in your opera which I might suit. I haven't an engagement of any kind, and I am most anxious to get something to do. I'd rather lead the chorus than do nothing." "Oh," said Fraser, "if you sing anything like as well as Lavirotte, you must not think of leading a chorus." "Sing him something, Eugene, and then he'll be able to tell whether you sing better than I or not." "I won't sing if you put it that way, Dominique," said O'Donnell, colouring slightly. "You know very well I do not want to go into rivalry with you." "There is no rivalry at all, Mr. O'Donnell. Lavirotte is in one of his perverse moods. If I produce my opera this season, he shall have the refusal of the leading part. I have no one in my mind as the second tenor. Now, if you'll sing me something, please, I shall be able to tell you whether I think the music would suit you." "What would you like," asked Eugene, standing up to the piano. Fraser was sitting in front of it, running his fingers over the keys. "Whatever you think best. Whatever suits you best." "What shall I sing, Dominique?" "Oh, a ballad," said Lavirotte. "Shall I start you?" "Ay, give him a lead," said Fraser. "The bright stars fade, the morn is breaking!" "Damn it, Lavirotte, are you mad or possessed by devils!" Fraser had begun the accompaniment. He turned round in astonishment. "What on earth is the matter?" he said. "It's a good song, Mr. O'Donnell." Lavirotte was laughing slyly, stealthily, behind his hand. O'Donnell looked furiously at Lavirotte. He was thoroughly roused. He pointed at Lavirotte, and said: "He knows I do not sing that song. He knows it puts me out to speak of that song." The composer looked in amazement from one to the other. "Perhaps," he said, "you will sing something else, Mr. O'Donnell? If you had a breakdown on it once I don't think it kind of Lavirotte to remind you of it." "I never had a breakdown on it, Mr. Fraser," said Eugene, taking his eyes off Lavirotte, and fixing them on the composer. Then he spoke with enormous distinctness, "But, Mr. Fraser, whenever I hear that song it pains me cruelly. It pains me as though you thrust a knife into me." Lavirotte ceased to laugh. His hand fell from before his face. He turned ashy pale. "Eugene!" he cried, "you hit below the belt."