Fair Margaret - Page 47/206

'Nothing can move that man!' cried Madame Bonanni, in a helpless tone.

'Nothing but the sound of your marvellous voice, my angel artist,' said

Schreiermeyer. 'That always makes me weep, especially in the last act

of this opera.' Margaret could not fancy the manager blubbering, though she had more

than once seen people in front with their handkerchiefs to their eyes

during the scene in the tomb.

'Put my wig on,' said Madame Bonanni to the cadaverous maid, and she

sat down in front of the toilet-table. 'We must talk business at once,'

she continued, suddenly speaking with the utmost calm. 'The appointment

is at my house, at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, Schreiermeyer. Miss

Donne will sing for us. Bring a pianist and the Minister of Fine Arts

if you can get him.' 'I have not the Minister of Fine Arts in my pocket, dearest lady,'

observed the manager, 'but I will try. Why do you name such a very

early hour?' 'Because I breakfast at eleven. Tell the Minister that the King is

coming too. That will bring him. All Ministers are snobs.' 'The King?' repeated Margaret in surprise, and somewhat aghast.

'He is in Paris,' explained Madame Bonanni carelessly. 'He's an old

friend of mine, and we dined together last night. I told him about you

and he said he would come if he could but you never can count on those

people.' Margaret was too timid to ask what king Madame Bonanni was talking of,

but she supposed her teacher would tell her in due time; and, after

all, he might not come. Margaret hoped that he would, however, for she

had never spoken to a royalty in her life and thought it would be very

amusing to see a real, live king in the prima donna's eccentric

surroundings.

'I shall turn you all out when you have heard her sing,' continued

Madame Bonanni. You and I will lunch quite alone, my dear, and talk

things over. There is one good point in Schreiermeyer's character. He

never flatters unless he wants something. If he tells you that you sing

well, it means an engagement next year. If he says you sing divinely,

your début will be next week, or as soon as you can rehearse with a

company.' She touched up her cheeks with a hare's-foot while she talked.

'So that is settled,' she said, turning sharp round on the stool, which

creaked loudly. 'Go home and go to bed, my children, unless you want to

hear poor old Bonanni sing the rest of this stupid opera!' She laughed, at herself perhaps; but suddenly in the tones Margaret

heard a far-off suggestion of sadness that went to her heart very

strangely. The singer turned her back again and seemed to pay no more

attention to her visitors. Margaret came close to her, to say goodbye,

and to thank her for all she was doing. The great artist looked up

quietly into the young girl's eyes for a moment, and laid a hand on

hers very kindly.