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.