By this time Margaret was beyond the possibility of failure; she had at

first sung almost unconsciously, under the influence of a glorious

excitement like a beautiful dream, but she was now thoroughly aware of

what she was doing and sang the intricate music of the aria with a

judgment, a discrimination and a perfectly controlled taste which

appealed to the real critics much more than all that had gone before.

But the applause, though loud, was short, and hardly delayed Margaret's

exit ten seconds. A moment later she was seen on the terrace with her

lamp.

Madame Bonanni had listened with profound attention to every note that

Margaret sang. She was quietly dressed in a costume of very dark stuff,

she wore a veil, and few people would have recognised the dark, pale

face of the middle-aged woman now that it was no longer painted. She

leaned back in her box alone, watching the stage and calling up a

vision of herself, from long ago, singing for the first time in the

same house. For she had made her début in that very theatre, as

many great singers have done. It was all changed, the house, the

decorations, the stage entrance, but those same walls were standing

which had echoed to her young voice, the same roof was overhead, and

all her artist's lifetime was gone by.

As Margaret disappeared at last, softly repeating her lover's name,

while the conspirators began to fill the stage, the door of the box

opened quietly, and Lushington came and sat down close behind his

mother.

'Well?' she said, only half turning her head, for she knew it was he.

'What do you think?' 'You know what I think, mother,' he answered.

'You did not want her to do it.' 'I've changed my mind,' said Lushington. 'It's the real thing. It would

be a sin to keep it off the stage.' Madame Bonanni nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing. A knock was heard

at the door of the box. Lushington got up and opened, and the dark

figure of the cadaverous maid appeared in the dim light. Before she had

spoken, Madame Bonanni was close to her.

'They are in the chorus,' said the maid in a low voice, 'and there is

some one behind the door, waiting. I think it will be now.' That was all Lushington heard, but it was quite enough to awaken his

curiosity. Who was in the chorus? Behind which door was some one

waiting? What was to happen 'now'?

Madame Bonanni reflected a moment before she answered.




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