"
"A hundred!" he triumphantly cried.
III
To soothe her conscience, which began to ring faint alarm-bells at
sundown, Alixe sent several despatches to her husband, and then tried a
telephone; but she was not successful. Her mood shifted chilly, and they
bored each other immeasurably on the long promenade vibrating with gypsy
music and frivolous folk.
It was after seven o'clock as the sun slowly swam down the sky-line.
Decidedly their little flight from the prison of stone was not offering
rich recompense to Alixe Van Kuyp and her elderly companion.
"And now for the favour!" he demanded, his eyes contentedly resting upon
the graceful expanse of his guest's figure.
She moved restlessly: "My dear Rentgen, I am about to ask you a
question, only a plain question. _That_ is the favour." He bowed
incredulously.
"I must know the truth about Richard. It is a serious matter, this
composing of his. He neglects his pupils--most of them Americans who
come to Paris to study with him. Yet with the reputation he has
attained, due to you entirely"--she waved away an interruption--"he
refuses to write songs or piano music that will sell.
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