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There was a general feeling that he ought to have shown, by his personal applause in public, a proper appreciation of the many gifted artists playing that evening, especially in the case of Louis Valdor, the composer of the Opera itself. But he sat inert, only occasionally glancing at the stage, and anon carelessly turning away from it to converse with the members of his suite.
Only the other day, when I was summoned to play before a certain Majesty, a lord-in-waiting addressed me when I arrived with the insolent words 'You are late, Monsieur Valdor! You have kept the King waiting! I replied 'Is that so? I regret it! But having kept his Majesty waiting, I will no longer detain him; au revoir! And I returned straightway to the carriage in which I had come.
"The King has created an autocracy!" said Louis Valdor; "and it will last for his lifetime. But after !" "After him, if his eldest son, Prince Humphry, comes to the Throne, the autocracy will be continued;" said Von Glauben decisively; "For he is a young man who is singularly fond of having his own way!"
The King, God bless him! doesn't see it, Thord, glowering like an owl in his ivy-bush of hair, doesn't see it! It is only left to me to perceive the chief result of this evening's disclosures!" All the men laughed. "What is it, Zouche?" demanded Louis Valdor. "Ay! What is it?" echoed Zegota.
The interest of the public on this particular occasion was centred in the new Opera, which had only been given three times before, and in which the little dancer, Pequita, played the part of a child-heroine. The libretto was the work of Paul Zouche, and the music by one of the greatest violinists in the world, Louis Valdor.
She inclined her head gently, and in the same mute fashion thanked them all. "Play to us, Valdor!" she then said; "And so make answer for me to our friends' good wishes!" Valdor dived under the table, and brought up his violin case, which he unlocked with jealous tenderness, lifting his instrument as carefully as though it were a sleeping child whom he feared to wake.
We do nothing but try to support ourselves; and we talk a vast amount about supporting others, but Pequita works all the time and says nothing. And she is a genius she does not know it, but she is. Give us the Dagger Dance, Pequita! Then our friend Leroy can judge of you at your best, and make good report of you." Pequita looked at Lotys and received a sign of assent. She then nodded to Valdor.
Lugur, who had been scanning his bulk, drew close. He felt the giant muscles which Huldricksson accommodatingly flexed for him. "But he shall meet Valdor and Tahola before he sees those kin of his," he laughed mockingly. "And if he bests them for reward his wife and babe!" A shudder, quickly repressed, shook the seaman's frame. The woman bent her supremely beautiful head.
Comments ran freely from lip to lip, Sergius Thord had been seen, pale as death, laying flowers on the deck to the last, the King, yes! the King himself had sent a wreath, as a token of remembrance, to the obsequies of the woman who had saved his life, the purple velvet pall, with its glittering fringes of gold, had been the gift of the city of which Thord was the lately-elected Deputy, Louis Valdor had sent that garland of violets, the great wreath of roses which lay at the head of the coffin, was the offering of the famous little dancer, Pequita, who, it was said, now lay sick of a fever brought on by grief and fretting for the loss of her best friend, and rich and poor alike had vied with one another in assisting the weird beauty of this exceptional and strange burial, in which no sexton was employed but the wild wind, which would in due time scoop a hollow in the sea, and whirl down into fathomless deeps all that remained of a loving woman, with the offerings of a People's love around her!
"Shall I dance now?" enquired Pequita. Lotys smiled and nodded. Four or five of the company at once got up, and helped to push aside the table. "Will you play for me, Monsieur Valdor?" asked the little girl, still standing by the side of Zouche. "Of course, my child! What shall it be?
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