"Are you there, Galen Albret?" he challenged.

The spell of twilight mystery broke. It seemed as if suddenly the air
had become surcharged with the vitality of opposition.

"What then?" countered the Factor's heavy, deliberate tones.

"True, I see you now," rejoined the visitor carelessly, as he flung
himself across the arm of a chair and swung one foot. "I do not doubt
you are convinced by this time of my intention."

"My recollection does not tell me what messenger I sent to ask this
interview."

[Illustration: "WHAT YOU WANT DOESN'T CONCERN ME IN THE LEAST." Scene
from the play.]

"Correct," laughed the young man a little hardly. "You _didn't_ ask
it. I attended to that myself. What _you_ want doesn't concern me in
the least. What do you suppose I care what, or what not, any of this
crew wants? I'm master of my own ideas, anyway, thank God. If you
don't like what I do, you can always stop me." In the tone of his
voice was a distinct challenge. Galen Albret, it seemed, chose to
pass it by.

"True," he replied sombrely, after a barely perceptible pause to mark
his tacit displeasure. "It is your hour. Say on."

"I should like to know the date at which I take _la Longue Traverse_".