'Yes,' said Margaret. 'She wrote me that Monsieur Logotheti had some

papers for her to sign to-day before a notary, and that somehow if she

did not stay and sign them she would lose most of what she has.' 'That's ingenious!' exclaimed Madame Bonanni, with a laugh.

'Ingenious?' Margaret did not understand. 'Do you mean that Madame De

Rosa has invented the story?' 'No, no!' cried the other. 'I mean it was ingenious of fate, you

know--to make such a thing happen just to-day.' 'Oh, very!' assented Margaret carelessly, and rather wishing that

Madame Bonanni would go away, for though she was turning into a

professional artist at an almost alarming rate, she was not yet

hardened in regard to little things and preferred to be alone with her

maid while she was dressing.

But Madame Bonanni had no intention of staying, and now went away

rather abruptly, after nodding to her old maid, unseen by Margaret, as

if there were some understanding between them, for the woman answered

the signal with an unmistakable look of intelligence.

In the corridor Madame Bonanni met the contralto taking a temporary

leave of the wholesale upholsterer at the door of her dressing-room, a

black-browed, bony young Italian woman with the face of a Medea, whose

boast it was that with her voice and figure she could pass for a man

when she pleased.

Madame Bonanni greeted her and stopped a moment.

'Please do not think I have only just come to the theatre,' said the

Italian. 'I have been listening to her in the house, though I have

heard her so often at rehearsals.' 'Well?' asked the elder woman. 'What do you think of it?' 'It is the voice of an angel--and then, she is handsome, too! But----' 'But what?' 'She is a statue,' answered the contralto in a tone of mingled pity and

contempt. 'She has no heart.' 'They say that of most lyric sopranos,' laughed Madame Bonanni.

'I never heard it said of you! You have a heart as big as the world!'

The Italian made a circle of her two arms, to convey an idea of the

size of the prima donna's heart, while the wholesale upholsterer, who

had a good eye, compared the measurement with that lady's waist. 'You

bring the tears to my eyes when you sing,' continued the contralto,

'but Cordova is different. She only makes me hate her because she has

such a splendid voice!' 'Don't hate her, my dear,' said Madame Bonanni gently. 'She's a friend

of mine. And as for the heart, child, it's like a loaf of bread! You

must break it to get anything out of it, and if you never break it at

all it dries up into a sort of little wooden cannon-ball! Cordova will

break hers, some day, and then you will all say that she is a great

artist!' Thereupon Madame Bonanni kissed the contralto affectionately, as she

kissed most people, nodded and smiled to the wholesale upholsterer, and

went on her way to cross the stage and get back to her box.




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