'It's just what I wanted,' she said. 'Hang it on the hook by the door,

and sit down. Gilda will be on in a minute.' Lushington obeyed, and if he wondered a little at first why his mother

should want a big cloak on a suffocating evening in July, he soon

forgot all about it in listening to Margaret's duet with Rigoletto. His

mother sat perfectly motionless in her seat, her eyes closed, following

every note.

At the end of the short act, the applause became almost riotous, and if

Margaret had appeared before the curtain she would have had an ovation.

But in the first place, it was only a rehearsal, after all, and

secondly there was no one to call her back after she had gone to her

dressing-room to dress for the last act. She heard the distant roar,

however, and felt the tide of triumph rising still higher round her

heart. If she had been used to her cadaverous maid, too, she would have

seen that the woman's manner was growing more deferential each time she

saw her. Success was certain, now, a great and memorable success, which

would be proclaimed throughout the world in a very few days. The new

star was rising fast, and it was the sallow-faced maid's business to

serve stars and no others.

For the first scene of the last act Gilda puts on a gown over her man's

riding-dress; and when Rigoletto sends her off, she has only to drop

the skirt, draw on the long boots and throw her riding-cloak round her

to come on for the last scene. Of course the prima donna is obliged to

come back to her dressing-room to make even this slight change.

Madame Bonanni was speaking earnestly to Lushington in an undertone

during the interval before the last act, and as he listened to what she

said his face became very grave, and his lips set themselves together

in a look which his mother knew well enough.

The act proceeded, and Margaret's complete triumph became more and more

a matter of certainty. She sang with infinite grace and tenderness that

part in the quartet which is intended to express the operatic broken

heart, while the Duke, the professional murderer, and Maddalena are

laughing and talking inside the inn. That sort of thing does not appeal

much to our modern taste, but Margaret did what she could to make it

touching, and was rewarded with round upon round of applause.

Lushington rose quietly at this point, slipped on his thin overcoat,

took his hat and the big cloak he had bought, nodded to his mother and

left the box. A few moments later she rose and followed him.




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