leaning a little forward now, her chin resting upon her hands. Something about the lines of her long, supple body suggested to him the savage animal crouching for a spring. She was quiet, but her bosom was heaving, and he could guess at the passion within. With purpose he spoke to set it loose. 

 “You sing to-night?” he asked. 

 “Before God, no!” she answered, the anger blazing out of her eyes, shaking in her voice. “I sing no more in this accursed city!” 

 “There will be a revolution,” Bellamy remarked. “I see that the whole city is placarded with notices. It is to be a gala night at the Opera. The royal party is to be present.” 

 Her body seemed to quiver like a tree shaken by the wind. 

 “What do I care—I—I—for their gala night! If I were like Samson, if I could pull down the pillars of their Opera House and bury them all in its ruins, I would do it!” 

 He took her hand and smoothed it in his. 

 “Dear Louise, it is useless, this. You do everything that can be done for your country.” 

 Her eyes were streaming and her fingers sought his. 

 “My friend David,” she said, “you do not understand. None of you English yet can understand what it is to crouch in the shadow of this black fear, to feel a tyrant’s hand come creeping out, to know that your life-blood and the life-blood of all your people must be shed, and shed in vain. To rob a nation of their liberty, ah! it is worse, this, than murder,—a worse crime than his who stains the soul of a poor innocent girl! It is a sin against nature herself!” 

 She was sobbing now, and she clutched his hands passionately. 

 “Forgive me,” she murmured, “I am overwrought. I have borne up against this thing so long. I can do no more good here. I come to tell you that I go away till the time comes. I go to your London. They want me to sing for them there. I shall do it.” 

 “You will break your engagement?” 

 She laughed at him scornfully. 

 “I am Idiale,” she declared. “I keep no engagement if I do not choose. I will sing no more to this people whom I hate. My friend David, I have suffered enough. Their applause I loathe—their covetous eyes as they watch me move about the 

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