ne heard the tinkling of the harp
like the pattering of raindrops between peals of thunder. The leader
swayed from side to side in his place, beating time with his baton, his
hand, and his head.

On the stage itself the act was drawing to a close. There had just been
a duel. The baritone lay stretched upon the floor at left centre, his
sword fallen at some paces from him. On the left of the scene, front,
stood the tenor who had killed him, singing in his highest register,
very red in the face, continually striking his hand upon his breast and
pointing with his sword toward his fallen enemy. Next him on the extreme
left was his friend the basso, in high leather boots, growling from time
to time during a sustained chord, "_Mon honneur et ma foi._" In the
centre of the stage, the soprano, the star, the prima donna chanted a
fervid but ineffectual appeal to the tenor who cried, "_Jamais,
jamais!_" striking his breast and pointing with his sword. The prima
donna cried, "_Ah, mon Dieu, ayez pitie de moi._" Her confidante, the
mezzo-soprano, came to her support, repeating her words with an
impersonal meaning, "_Ayez pitie d'elle._" "_Mon honneur et ma foi_,"
growled the basso. The contralto, dressed as a man, turned toward the
audience on the extreme right, bringing out her notes with a wrench and
a twist of her body and neck, and intoning, "_Ah, malheureuse! Mon Dieu,
ayez pitie d'elle._"

The leader of the chorus, costumed as the captain of the watch, leaned
over the dead baritone and sang, "_Il est mort, il est mort. Mon Dieu,
ayez pitie de lui._" The soldiers of the watch were huddled together
immediately back of him. They wore tin helmets, much too large, and
green peplums, and repeated his words continually.

The chorus itself was made up of citizens of the town; it was in a
semicircle at the back of the stage--the men on one side, the women on
the other. They made all their gestures together and chanted without
ceasing: "_O horreur, O mystere! Il est mort. Mon Dieu, ayez pitie de
nous!_"

"_De Grace!_" cried the prima donna.

"_Jamais, jamais!_" echoed the tenor, striking his breast and pointing
with his sword.

"_O mystere!_" chanted the chorus, while the basso struck his hand upon
his sword hilt, growling "_Mon honneur et ma foi._"

The orchestra redoubled. The finale began; all the pieces of the
orchestra, all the voices on the stage, commenced over again very loud.
They all took a step forward, and the rhyt