"I don't know. Perhaps because it won't be final. And then they say at dress rehearsals things always go badly, and everyone thinks the piece, or the opera, is bound to be a failure. I feel wrinkles and gray hairs pouring over me in spite of your self-possession. I can't help it!" She forced a laugh. She was walking about the room. "I'm devoured by nerves, I suppose!" she exclaimed. "By the way, hasn't Mrs. Shiffney written about coming to-night?" "No." "You haven't seen her again?" "Oh, no!" "How very odd! Do you suppose she will try to get in?" "How can I tell?" "But isn't it strange, after her making such a fuss about coming--this silence?" "Probably she's immersed in Sennier's opera and won't bother about mine." "Women always bother." There was a "b-r-r-r!" in the lobby. Charmian started violently. "What can that be?" Claude went to the door, and returned with Armand Gillier. "Oh, Monsieur Gillier!" Charmian looked at Gillier's large and excited eyes. "You are coming with us?" "If you allow me, madame!" said Gillier formally, bowing over her hand. "It seems to me that the collaborators should go together." "Of course. It's still early, but we may as well start. The theater's pulling at me--pulling!" "My wife's quite strung up!" said Claude, smiling. "And Claude is disgustingly cool!" said Charmian. Gillier looked hard at Claude, and Charmian thought she detected admiration in his eyes. "Men need to be cool when the critical moment is at hand," he remarked. "I learned that long ago in Algeria." "Then you are not nervous now?" "Nerves are for women!" he returned. But the expression in his face belied his words. "Claude is cooler than he is!" Charmian thought. She went to put on her hat and her sealskin coat. She longed, yet dreaded to start. When they arrived at the stage-door of the Opera House the dark young man came from his office on the right with his hands full of letters, and, smiling, distributed them to Charmian, Claude and Gillier. "It will be a go!" he said, in a clear voice. "Everyone says so. Mr. Crayford is up in his office. He wants to see Mr. Heath. There's the elevator!" At this moment the lift appeared, sinking from the upper regions under the guidance of a smiling colored man. "I'll come up with you, Claudie. Are you going on the stage, Monsieur Gillier?" "No, madame, not yet. I must speak to Mademoiselle Mardon about the Ouled Nail scene." People were hurrying in, looking preoccupied. In a small abode on the left, a little way from the outer door, an elderly man in uniform, with a square gray beard, sat staring out through a small window, with a cautious and important air. Charmian and Claude stepped into the lift, holding their letters. As they shot up they both glanced hastily at the addresses. "Nothing from Adelaide Shiffney!" said Charmian. "Have you got anything?" "No." "Then she can't be coming." "It seems not." "I--then we shan't have the verdict in advance."