'How hot it is!' the latter complained, in an undertone. 'There is no
air at all here!' The maids were mopping their faces with their handkerchiefs, and Madame
De Rosa's fan was positively whirring. Schreiermeyer seemed quite
indifferent to the temperature.
He must nevertheless have been reflecting on Margaret's last remark
when he slowly turned to her after a silence of nearly a minute.
'Have you a good action of the heart?' he inquired, precisely as a
doctor might have done.
'I don't know.' Margaret smiled. 'I don't know anything about my
heart.' 'Then it is good,' said the manager. 'It ought to be, for you have a
magnificent skin. Do you eat well and sleep well, always?' 'Perfectly. May I ask if you are a doctor?' Madame De Rosa made furious signs to Margaret. A very faint smile
flitted over the manager's quiet face.
'Some people call me an executioner,' he answered, 'because I kill the
weak ones.' 'I am not afraid of work.' Margaret laughed.
'No. You will grow fat if you sing. You will grow very fat.' He spoke
thoughtfully. 'After you are forty,' he added, as if by way of
consolation.
'I hope not!' cried the young girl.
'Yes, you will. It is the outward sign of success in the profession.
Singers who grow thin lose their voices.' 'I never grew very fat,' said Madame De Rosa, in a tone of regret.
'Precisely, my darling,' answered Schreiermeyer. 'Therefore you
retired.' Margaret was a little surprised that he should call her teacher 'my
darling,' and that the good lady should seem to think it quite natural,
but her reflections on obesity and the manners of theatrical people
were interrupted, though not by any means arrested for the night, by
the clattering sound of high-heeled shoes in the corridor. The act was
over, and Madame Bonanni was coming back from the stage. In a moment
she was in the doorway, and as she entered the room she unmasked a
third maid who followed her with a cloak.
She saw Margaret first, as the latter rose to meet her. Margaret felt
as if the world itself were putting huge arms round her and kissing her
on both cheeks. The embrace was of terrific power, and a certain amount
of grease paint came off.
'Little Miss Donne,' cried the prima donna, relaxing her hold on
Margaret's waist but instantly seizing her by the wrist and turning her
round sharply, like a dressmaker's doll on a pivot, 'that is
Schreiermeyer! The great Schreiermeyer! The terrible Schreiermeyer! You
see him before you, my child! Tremble! Every one trembles before
Schreiermeyer!' The manager had risen, but was perfectly imperturbable and silent. He
did not even grunt. Madame Bonanni dropped Margaret's wrist and
shrugged her Juno-like shoulders.