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Updated: June 19, 2025
Shiffney glanced swiftly about the immense house, looking from box to box. She took up her opera glasses. "I wonder where the Heaths are sitting," she said. "Henriette, can you see them?" Madame Sennier looked round with her hard yellow eyes. "No. Perhaps they aren't here yet. Or they may be above us. Or perhaps they are too nervous to come."
Charmian was faintly conscious of his fierce independence, as she had been on the night of their first meeting; of the something strong and permanent which his manner so often contradicted, a mental remoteness which was disagreeable to her, but which impressed her. To-night, however, she was resolved to play the Madame Sennier to her husband, to bring up battalions of will. "Well?" Claude said.
Sennier stood for fame, for success; his wife for the glory of the woman who aids and is crowned; Mrs. Shiffney and Max Elliot for the joy and the power that belong to great patrons of the arts. An immense vitality went away with them all. So long as they were with her the little Arab house, the little African garden, had stood in the center of things, in the heart of vital things.
Isn't it so, Henriette?" "So they say in New York," said Madame Sennier. "I wish he could find one; then perhaps he would leave off bothering us with absurd proposals. And I'm sure there is plenty of room for some more shining lights. I told Crayford if he worried Jacques any more I would unearth someone for him. He doesn't know where to look." "But surely " began Charmian.
"These are the things your husband loves," said Charmian, pointing to the syrups. "I wonder " She paused. "Did you make as great friends with my husband as I have made with yours?" she asked lightly. Madame Sennier spread out her hands, which were encased in thick white kid gloves sewn with black.
"Here's a man who knows what he is talking about," she exclaimed, when he finished speaking. When he got up to leave the box she had looked full into his eyes and said: "You are going to do something, too." Could Jacques Sennier have won his triumph alone? Impulse was boiling up in Heath.
I see you are interested in each other. Two wives of geniuses! I don't want to spoil it. Come, Jacques, let us explore." They went away to the court of the goldfish. Max Elliot followed them. As they went Madame Sennier fixed her eyes for a moment on her departing husband. In that moment Charmian found out something. Madame Sennier certainly cared for the man, as well as for the composer.
"Crayford would give a hundred thousand dollars without a murmur to get Jacques away from the Metropolitan," he continued. "Won't he go for that?" asked Lady Mildred, in her hollow voice. "Is Madame Sennier holding out for two hundred thousand?" Again Max Elliot looked happily evasive. "Henriette! Has she anything to do with it?" "Mr. Elliot! You know she arranges everything for her husband."
Madame Sennier made an upward movement of her head, full of will. She put out her hand, and laid it on Heath's arm. Now they all seemed to be talking together. Madame Sennier looked radiant, triumphant, even autocratic. She pointed toward the stage emphatically, made elaborate descriptive movements with her hands. A bell sounded somewhere. Heath got up.
"Are you an enemy of the great and only Jacques then?" said Mr. Crayford. "Monsieur Sennier? Oh, no! I was at the first performance of his Paradis Terrestre, and it altered my whole life." "Well, they like it over in New York. And I've got to find another Paradise to put up against it just as quick as I know how." "I do hope you'll be successful."
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