reled, but they had understood each other uncommonly well. They had been good comrades. Lina and Kessel could never be comrades, nor indeed did they wish to be; they made scenes because Kessel liked scenes, and would indeed have been unable to conduct business, as he understood business, without this stimulus. Periodically they screamed and swore at each other, slammed doors, and vowed never to see each other again; both were conscious, all the time, of play-acting, and it is no exaggeration to say that both secretly enjoyed such demonstrations. Heinrich, when he quarreled, put all his heart and soul into the business; yet Heinrich, for all his admiration of Lina as a star, was quite incapable of worshiping Varsovina the artist, the great dancer, the prima ballerina, as a personality distinct from the woman that Guy Chevis had onceloved.
Kessel worshiped Varsovina and detested Lina herself. Their partnership was perhaps for this reason eminently successful. The woman, Lina, was to Kessel an insufferable creature—ill-tempered, vain, capricious and calculating, nor had he ever been able to discover anything to admire in her thin body, her white face, her black burning eyes. Yet when the other woman, the artist, the woman nam er) Varsovina, glided upon the stage to dance, she at once seemed to him a divinity, and very often there were tears in his eyes as he watched her exquisite and inspired movements.
It was to Kessel, of course, that Borek addressed himself on the day after the return to Paris of the Varsovina ballet; Kessel, who had been for some time meditating this capture, greeted him casually, talked to him for some time and finally announced that no arrangements could be made without the consent and approval of Varsovina.
"But," said he, adopting the paternal and mellifluous