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Again a hand emerged from the thick white folds and grasped Margaret's arm firmly above the elbow, as a trainer feels an athlete's biceps. 'Good, good! Very good! cried Madame Bonanni approvingly. 'It is a pity you are a lady! You are a lady, aren't you? Margaret smiled. 'I am a peasant, the singer answered without the least affectation.
Madame Bonanni sat in the spring sunshine by the closed window of her sitting-room in London; she was thankful that there was any sunshine at all, and by keeping the window shut and wrapping herself in furs she produced the illusion that it was warming her.
'I'm very sorry I Madame Bonanni did not even turn her head to listen. Margaret did not try to say anything more, but broke off and waited patiently. Then the elder woman turned quickly and fiercely, buttoning the last button of her glove. 'If my own son has done much worse to me, why should I care what any one else can do? she asked.
'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.
Every one connected with the musical world, even if only as a regular spectator, felt that something extraordinary was coming. Madame Bonanni wrote to Margaret that she wished to see her, and would come over to Paris expressly, if Margaret would only telegraph. She would come out to Versailles, she would make the acquaintance of that charming Mrs. Rushmore.
'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.
'He has told me again and again that you are still the greatest lyric soprano living 'Angelo, said Madame Bonanni, with perfect calm, 'change my plate. Margaret glanced at Lushington, who seemed to think it all quite natural. He was eating little bits of thin toast thoughtfully, and from time to time he looked at his mother with a gentle expression. But he did not meet Margaret's glance.
But to himself, to the few trusted persons who knew his secret, above all to Margaret Donne, he was the son of that 'Bonanni woman, who had been the spoilt plaything of royalty and semi-royalty from London to St. Petersburg, whose lovers had been legion and her caprices as the sand on the sea-shore.
Margaret gave one more cry, and instantly Madame Bonanni led her quickly away towards her dressing-room, a little shaken and in a very bad temper with the men who had carried her. 'I knew they would be clumsy! she said. 'So did I, answered her friend. 'That is why I came round to meet you.
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.
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