"Monsieur," he said, "you can't have your libretto back. It's mine, and I'm going to keep it." When Gillier was gone Charmian said, almost in a faltering voice, and with none of her usual self-possession of manner: "How--how could you bear that man's insults as you did?" "His insults?" "Yes." Claude looked at her in silence. And again she was conscious of fear. "Don't let us ever speak of this again," he answered at last. He went away. That day he was in his workroom till very late. He did not come to tea. The evening fell; but he was not working on the opera. Charmian heard him playing Bach. * * * * * At the end of April Alston Lake came once more to visit them. Since those London days when they had first met him Lake had made great progress toward the fulfilment of his ambition. His energy and will were beginning to reap a good reward. He was making money, enough money to live upon; but he had still to pay back his big debt to Jacob Crayford, had still to achieve his great desire, an appearance in Grand Opera. When he arrived at Djenan-el-Maqui he brought with him, as of old, an infectious atmosphere of enthusiasm. With his iron will he combined a light heart. He had none of the childishness that surprised, and sometimes charmed, in Jacques Sennier, but much that was boyish still pleasantly lingered with him. In him, too, there was something courageous that inspired courage in others. This time he announced he could stay for a month if they did not mind. He wanted a thorough rest before the many concerts he was going to sing at during the London season. Both Charmian and Claude were delighted. When Claude heard of it he was silent for a moment. Then he began to reckon. "The thirtieth to-day, isn't it? By a month do you mean a month or four weeks?" "Well, four weeks, old chap!" "That is less than a month." "I wish it weren't. But I have to sing in London at the Bechstein Hall early in June. So I'm running it pretty close as it is." "May the twenty-eighth you go, then," said Claude. "That's it. But why these higher mathematics?" Claude only smiled and went out of the room. "What is he up to, Mrs. Charmian?" asked Lake mystified. "I don't know," she answered. "Does he want to get rid of me? Is that why he was so keen to know whether it was four weeks or a month?" said Lake, laughing. "I am afraid that probably is it. But come up and see the flowers I've put in your room." "This is a little Paradise," said Lake, in his ringing baritone voice. "Sometimes this winter in Paris, when I was all in, don't you know--" "All in?" "Blues." "Oh, yes!" "I'd think of Djenan-el-Maqui, and wish I was a composer instead of a singer--for a fifth of a minute." "Oh!" she said reproachfully. "Only a fifth!" "I know. It wasn't long. But you see I'm born to sing, so I'm bound to love it more than anything else. Making a noise--oh, it's rare!" He opened his mouth and ran up a scale to the high A.