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Updated: June 19, 2025
Some women intrigue when circumstances drive them to subterfuge, trickery and underhand dealing. Henriette Sennier needed no incentive of that kind. She liked intrigue for its own sake. In Marseilles she had lived in the midst of a network of double dealing connected with so-called love. When she married Jacques Sennier she had exchanged it for intrigue connected with art.
Shiffney's message. He was evidently reluctant to obey it, but Charmian insisted on his going. "I want to know what Madame Sennier is like. You must ask her if she is happy, find out how happy she is." "Charmian, Mr. Heath isn't a mental detective!" "I speak such atrocious French!" said Heath, looking nervous and miserable.
Crayford, who was determined to be "in the front artistically," kept the theater very dark when the curtain was up, in order to focus the attention of the audience on the stage. To Charmian, Madame Sennier looked like a shade, erect, almost strangely motionless, implacable. This shade drew Charmian's eyes as the act went on.
Send us a fine libretto, such as I know you can write, and we will pay you five times as much as anyone else would, on account of a royalty. We should not mind even if someone else had already tried to set it. All we care about is to get your best work. Gillier had torn this note up with fury. Then he had thought things over and paid Madame Sennier a visit.
For the first time she really understood something of the renunciation which must make up so large a part of every true artist's life. Sometimes she wondered what Madame Sennier's life had been while Jacques Sennier was composing Le Paradis Terrestre, how long he had taken in the creation of that stupendous success. Then resolutely she turned to her little manuals.
"It's their blindness that spoils us," she said to herself. "If they could see, we should have ten commandments to obey perhaps twenty." Toward the end of the London season the management of the Covent Garden Opera House startled its subscribers by announcing for production a new opera, composed by a Frenchmen called Jacques Sennier, whose name was unknown to most people.
He spoke of Sennier invariably as "Jacques," of Madame Sennier as "Henriette." Living English composers scarcely existed any more in his sight. France was the country of music. Only from France could one expect anything of real value to the truly cultured. Charmian began to hate this absurd entente cordiale. Another person on whom she had secretly set high hopes was Adelaide Shiffney.
Let the papers say whatever they like so long as they talk about us. Let Madame Sennier rail and sneer as much as she chooses. It will be all to the good. Crayford told me so to-night. He said, 'My boy, it shows they're funky.
And she resented it still more when Madame Sennier replied: "I wanted you to choose the lower bed, but I thought you preferred being where you are." Mrs. Shiffney made no reply, but turned carefully over till she was looking at the wall. "Why do I do things for this woman?" was her thought. She had told herself more than once that she was travelling to Constantine for Henriette.
The two women had troubled Charmian. Madame Sennier had almost frightened her. Yet something in both of them fascinated, must always fascinate such a mind and temperament as hers. They meant so much to the men who were known. And they had made themselves known. Both were women who stood apart from the great crowd. When their names were mentioned everyone who counted knew who they were.
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