tle courtesy, all as naturally as if she had never done anything
else. Thereupon the clapping grew louder for one instant, and then
ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The director raised his baton and
looked at her, Rigoletto came forward once more calling to her, and she
fell into his arms again with her little cry. There was no sound from
the house now, and the silence was so intense that she could easily
fancy herself at an ordinary rehearsal, with only a dozen or fifteen
people looking on out of the darkness.

But she was thinking of nothing now. She was out of the world, in the
Play-King's palace, herself a part, and a principal part, of an
illusion, an imaginary personage in one of the dreams that great old
Verdi had dreamt long ago, in his early manhood. Her lips parted and
her matchless voice floated out of its own accord, filling the darkened
air; she moved, but she did not know it, though every motion had been
studied for weeks; she sung as few have ever sung, but it was to her as
if some one else were singing while she listened and made no effort.

The duet is long, as Margaret had often thought when studying it, but
now she was almost startled because it seemed to her so soon that she
found herself once more embracing Rigoletto and uttering a very high
note at the same time. Very vaguely she wondered whether the far-off
person who had been singing for her had not left out something, and if
so, why there had been no hitch. Then came the thunder of applause
again, not in greeting now, but in praise of her, long-drawn,
tremendous, rising and bursting and falling, like the breakers on an
ocean beach.

'Brava! brava!' yelled Rigoletto in her ear; but she could hardly hear
him for the noise.

She pressed his hand almost affectionately as she courtesied to the
audience. If she could have thought at all, she would have remembered
how Madame Bonanni had once told her that in moments of great success
everybody embraces everybody else on the stage. But she could not think
of anything. She was not frightened, but she was dazed; she felt the
tide of triumph rising round her heart, and upwards towards her throat,
like something real that was going to choke her with delight. The time
while she had been singing had seemed short; the seconds during which
the applause lasted seemed very long, but the roar sounded sweeter than
anything had ever sounded to her before that day.

It ceased presently, and Margaret heard from