"Better think twice."

"Never. It is a trick you wish to play on me."

"Very well." I went to the door, and opened it wide. "You are free to

go."

"To go?"

"It is your mistress's wish."

"She will not send me to prison?"

"She scorns to do anything whatever."

For a moment the girl looked puzzled, and then: "Ah! it is a bad pleasantry; the gendarmes are on the stairs."

I shrugged my shoulders, and at length she tripped quietly out of the

room. I heard her run down-stairs. Then, to my astonishment, the

footfalls approached again, and Yvette re-entered the room and closed

the door.

"I see it is not a bad pleasantry," she began, with her back to the

door. "Mademoiselle is a great lady, and I have always known that; she

is an artist; she has soul--so have I. What you could not force from

me, neither you nor any man, I will tell you of my own free will. You

want to hear of Deschamps?"

I nodded, half-admiring her--perhaps more than half.

"She is a woman to fear. I have told you I used to be her maid before

I came to mademoiselle, and even I was always afraid of her. But I

liked her. We understood each other, Deschamps and I. Mademoiselle

imagines that Deschamps became jealous of her because of a certain

affair that happened at the Opéra Comique several years ago--a mere

quarrel of artists, of which I have seen many. That was partly the

cause, but there was something else. Deschamps used to think that Lord

Clarenceux was in love with her--with her! As a fact, he was not; but

she used to think so, and when Lord Clarenceux first began to pay

attention to mademoiselle, then it was that the jealousy of Deschamps

really sprang up. Ah! I have heard Deschamps swear to--But that is

nothing. She never forgave mademoiselle for being betrothed to Lord

Clarenceux. When he died, she laughed; but her hatred of mademoiselle

was unchanged. It smouldered, only it was very hot underneath. And I

can understand--Lord Clarenceux was so handsome and so rich, the most

fine stern man I ever saw. He used to give me hundred-franc notes."

"Never mind the notes. Why has Deschamps' jealousy revived so suddenly

just recently?"

"Why? Because mademoiselle would come back to the Opéra Comique.

Deschamps could not suffer that. And when she heard it was to be so,

she wrote to me--to me!--and asked if it was true that mademoiselle

was to appear as Carmen. Then she came to see me--me--and I was

obliged to tell her it was true, and she was frightfully angry, and

then she began to cry--oh, her despair! She said she knew a way to

stop mademoiselle from singing, and she begged me to help her, and I

said I would."




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