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Updated: June 20, 2025
Which has your poor unfortunate husband accepted?" Charmian handed the tea. She felt Madame Sennier's hard and observant eyes they were yellow eyes, and small fixed upon her. "Claude's libretto has never been offered to anyone else," she answered. Madame Sennier slightly shrugged her shoulders. "And so Gillier is with your husband!" she observed. Apparently she was clairvoyante.
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 was addressed to Charmian, and contained a folded slip of green paper, which fell to the ground as she opened the note. Claude picked it up. "What is it?" said Charmian. "A box ticket for the Metropolitan. It must be for Sennier's first night, I suppose." "It is!" said Charmian, who had looked at the note. In a moment she gave it to Claude without comment. RITZ-CARLTON HOTEL. Feb. 28th
They think our combination may be stronger than theirs. It seems Sennier's new libretto has come out quite dreadfully at rehearsal, and they've been trying to re-write a lot of it and change situations. Now, we got nearly everything cut and dried at Djenan-el-Maqui. By Jove, how I did work there! D'you remember old Jernington's visit, Charmian? He believed in the opera, didn't he?"
For one of the most curious features of Sennier's vogue was the worship accorded by women as well as by men to his dominating wife. They talked and thought almost as much about her as they did about him. And though his was the might of genius, hers seemed to be the might of personality. The perpetual chanting of the Frenchwoman's praises had "got upon" Charmian's nerves.
"Jacques Sennier's odd, extraordinary. People like that always are. You are." She was examining him contemplatively, as a woman examines a possession, something that the other women have not. Her look made him feel very restive and intensely reserved. "I doubt if I am the least like Jacques Sennier," he said. "Oh, yes, you are. I know."
Now, as he lay in his narrow berth in the wagon-lit jolting toward Constantine, he read some of Adelaide Shiffney's prose. Faintly, for the train was noisy, he heard voices in the next compartment, where Mrs. Shiffney and Madame Sennier were talking in their berths. Mrs. Shiffney was in the top berth. That fact gave the measure of Madame Sennier's iron will.
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