Foa and Dauphin and the Oriental resumed the argument about Musa’s talent and the concert.  Miquette would say nothing as to the success of the concert.  Foa asserted that the concert was not and would not be a success.  Dauphin pooh-poohed and insisted vehemently that the success was unmistakable and increasing.  Moreover, he criticised the hall, the choice of programme, the orchestra, the conductor.  “I discovered Musa,” said he.  “I have always said that he is a great concert player, and that he is destined for a great world-success, and to-night I am more sure of it than ever.”  Whereupon Madame Foa said with much sympathy that she hoped it was so, and Foa said:  “You create illusions for yourself, on purpose.”  Dauphin bore him down with wavy gestures and warm cries of “No!  No!  No!” And he appealed to Audrey as-a woman incapable of illusions.  And Audrey agreed with Dauphin.  And while she was agreeing she kept saying to herself:  “Why do I pretend to agree with him?  He is not sincere.  He knows he is not sincere.  We all know—­except perhaps Winnie Ingate.  The concert is a failure.  If it were not a failure, Madame Foa would not be so sympathetic.  She is more subtle even than Madame Piriac.  I shall never be subtle like that.  I wish I could be.  I wish I was at Moze.  I am too Essex for all this.  And Winnie here is too comic for words.”

An aged and repellent Jew came into sight.  He raised Madame Foa’s hand to his odious lips and kissed it, and Audrey wondered how Madame Foa could tolerate the formality.

“Well, Monsieur Xavier?”

Xavier shrugged his round shoulders.

“Do not say,” said he, in a hoarse voice to the company, “do not say that I have not done my best on this occasion.”  He lifted his eyes heavenward, and as he did so his passing glance embraced Audrey, and she violently hated him.

“Winnie,” said she, “I think we ought to be getting back to our seats.”

“But,” cried Madame Foa, “we are going round with Dauphin to the artists’ room.  You do not come with us, Madame Moncreiff?”

“In your place ...” muttered Xavier discouragingly, with a look at Dauphin, and another shrug of the shoulders.  “I have been ...”

“Ah!” said Dauphin, in a strange new tone.  And then very brightly to Audrey:  “Now, as to Saturday, dear lady——­”

Xavier engaged in private converse with Foa, and his demeanour to Foa was extremely deferential, whereas he almost ignored the Oriental critic.  And Audrey puzzled her head once again to discover why the Foas should exert such influence upon the fate of music in Paris.  The enigma was only one among many.

CHAPTER XLIV

END OF THE CONCERT