'Schreiermeyer,' she said, as if she had forgotten all about Margaret,
'if that lime-light man plays the moon in my eyes again I shall come
out on the balcony with blue goggles. You shall hear the public then!
It is perfectly outrageous! I am probably blind for life!' She winked her big painted eyelids vigorously as if trying whether she
could see at all. Margaret was looking at her, not sure that it was not
all a dream, and wondering how it was possible that such a face and
figure could still produce illusions of youth and grace when seen from
the other side of the footlights. Yet Margaret herself had felt the
illusion only a quarter of an hour ago. The paint on Madame Bonanni's
face was a thick mask of grease, pigments and powder; the wig was the
most evident wig that ever was; the figure seemed of gigantic girth
compared with the woman's height, though that was by no means small;
the eye lids were positively unwieldy with paint and the lashes looked
like very thick black horsehairs stuck in with glue, in rows.
She shook her solid fist at Schreiermeyer and blinked violently again.
'It is outrageous!' she cried again. 'Do you understand?' 'Perfectly.' 'Schreiermeyer!' screamed Madame Bonanni. 'If you take no more notice
of my complaints than that I refuse to finish the opera. I will not
sing the rest of it! Find somebody else to go on. I am going home!
Undress me!' she cried, turning to the three perspiring maids, not one
of whom moved an inch at her summons. 'Oh, you won't? You are afraid of
him? Ah, bah! I am not. Schreiermeyer, I refuse to go on; I absolutely
refuse. Go away! I am going to undress.' Thereupon she tore off her brown wig with a single movement and threw
it across the room. It struck the wall with a thud and fell upon the
floor, a limp and shapeless mass. The cadaverous maid instantly picked
it up and began smoothing it. Madame Bonanni's own dark hair stood on
end, giving her a decidedly wild look.
Schreiermeyer smiled perceptibly.
'Miss Donne will go on and sing the rest of the opera with pleasure, I
have no doubt,' he said, gently, looking at Margaret.
The girl's heart stood still for an instant at this sudden proposal,
before she realised that the manager was not in earnest.
'Of course she can sing it!' chimed in Madame De Rosa, understanding
perfectly. 'But our dear friend is much too kind to disappoint the
Parisian public,' she added, turning to the prima donna and speaking
soothingly.