He went on with the rehearsal. It was worse than ever. He found it hard to go on to the end: it got on his nerves: his remarks to the singer, from cold and polite, became dry and cutting, in spite of the obvious pains she was taking to satisfy him, and the way she ogled him by way of winning his favor. The impresario prudently stopped the rehearsal just when it seemed to be hopeless. By way of softening the bad effect of Christophe's remarks, he bustled up to the singer and paid her heavy compliments. Christophe, who was standing by, made no attempt to conceal his impatience, called the impresario, and said:
"There's no room for argument. I won't have the woman. It's unpleasant, I know: but I did not choose her. Do what you can to arrange the matter."
The impresario bowed frigidly, and said coldly:
"I can't do anything. You must see M. Roussin."
"What has it got to do with M. Roussin? I don't want to bother him with this business," said Christophe.
"That won't bother him," said Sylvain Kohn ironically.
And he pointed to Roussin, who had just come in.
Christophe went up to him. Roussin was in high good humor, and cried:
"What! Finished already? I was hoping to hear a bit of it. Well, maestro, what do you say? Are you satisfied?"
"It's going quite well," said Christophe. "I don't know how to thank you…."