"One cannot escape one's destiny," he said sadly. "_Che sara sara_. . . . But you can spare--her. Tell her the truth, and in common fairness let her judge for herself--not rush blindfold into such a web." Max shook his head. "You know I can't do that," he replied quietly. Baroni threw out his arms in despair. "I would tell her the whole truth myself--but for the memory of one who is dead." Sudden tears dimmed the fierce old eyes. "For the sake of that sainted martyr--martyr in life as well as in death--I will hold my peace." A half-sad, half-humorous smile flashed across Errington's face. "We're all of us martyrs--more or less," he observed drily. "And you wish to add Mees Quentin to the list?" retorted Baroni. "Well, I warn you, I shall fight against it. I will do everything in my power to stop this marriage." Max shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sure you will," he said, smiling faintly. "But--forgive me, _Maestro_--I don't think you will succeed." As soon as Baroni had taken his departure, Max called a taxi, and hurried off to see Adrienne de Gervais. He had arranged to talk over with her a certain scene in the play he was now writing for her, and which was to be produced early in the New Year. Adrienne welcomed him good-humouredly. "A little late," she observed, glancing at the clock. "But I suppose one must not expect punctuality when a man's in love." "I know I'm late, but I can assure you"--with a grim smile--"love had little enough to do with it." Adrienne looked up sharply, struck by the bitter note in his voice. "Then what had?" she asked. "What has gone wrong, Max? You look fagged out." "Baroni has been round to see me--to ask me to break off my engagement." He laughed shortly. "He doesn't approve, I suppose?" "That's a mild way of expressing his attitude." Adrienne was silent a moment. Then she spoke, slowly, consideringly. "I don't--approve--either. It isn't right, Max." He bit his lip. "So you--you, too, are against me?" She stretched out her hand impulsively. "Not against you, Max! Never that! How could I be? . . . But I don't think you're being quite fair to Diana. You ought to tell her the truth." He wheeled round. "No one knows better than you how impossible that is." "Don't you trust her then--the woman you're asking to be your wife?" The tinge of irony in her voice brought a sudden light of anger to his eyes. "That's not very just of you, Adrienne," he said coldly. "_I_ would trust her with my life. But I have no right to pledge the trust of others--and that's what I should be doing if I told her. We have our duty--you and I--and all this . . . is part of it." Adrienne hesitated. "Couldn't you--ask the others to release you?" He shook his head. "What right have I to ask them to trust an Englishwoman with their secret--just for my pleasure?" "For your happiness," corrected Adrienne softly. "Or for my happiness? My happiness doesn't count with them one straw."