ything 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.

But Margaret was obstinate in her humility and would not be put off.
She took one of Madame Bonanni's hands and made her look at her.

'I would not say or do anything that could hurt you for all the world,'
said Margaret, very earnestly. 'I won't let you go away thinking that I
could, and angry with me. Don't you believe me?'

There was no resisting the tone and the look, and Madame Bonanni was
not able to be angry long. Her large mouth widened slowly in a bright
smile, and the next moment she threw her arms round Margaret and kissed
her on both cheeks.

'Bah!' she cried, 'I didn't think I could still be so fond of anybody,
since that wretched boy of mine broke my heart! It's ridiculous, but I
really believe there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, child!'

She was heartily in earnest, though she little guessed what she was
going to do for Margaret within a few days. But Margaret, who was
really grateful, was nevertheless glad that there was apparently
nothing more that Madame Bonanni could do. She was not quite sure that
the great singer's retirement would prove final; and on cool reflection
she found it hard to believe that the motive for it was the one the
latter alleged, and which had so touched her at first that it had
brought tears to her eyes. The Anglo-Saxon woman could not help looking
at the Latin woman with a little apprehension and a good deal of
scepticism.

CHAPTER XX

The stage was set for the introduction to the first act of _Rigoletto_,
the curtain was down, the lights were already up in the house and a
good many people were in their seats or standing about and chatting
quietly. It was a hot afternoon in July, and high up in the gallery the
summer sunshine streamed through an open window full upon the blazing
lights of the central chandelier, a straight, square beam of yellow
gold thrown across a white fire, and clearly seen through it.

It was still afternoon when the dress rehearsal began, but the night
would have come when it ended. There is always a pleasant latitude
about dress rehearsals, even when the piece is old and there is no new
stage machinery to be tried. While the play or the opera is actually
going on, everything works quickly as in a r