me from our hasty dialogue in the underground kitchen of Deschamps’ house. Although neither Rosa nor I was aware of it, operatic circles had been full of gossip concerning Deschamps’ anger and jealousy, of which she made no secret. One or two artists of the Op�ra Comique had decided to interfere, or at any rate seriously to warn Rosa, when Sir Cyril arrived, on his way to London from the German watering-place where he had been staying. All Paris knew Sir Cyril, and Sir Cyril knew all Paris; he was made acquainted with the facts directly, and the matter was left to him. A man of singular resolution, originality, and courage, he had gone straight to the Rue Thiers, having caught a rumor, doubtless started by the indiscreet Deschamps herself, that Rosa would be decoyed there. The rest was mere good fortune.