the house that deep-drawn
breath just after the applause ended, which tells that an audience is
in haste for more and is anticipating interest or pleasure. The
conductor's baton rose again and Margaret sang her little scene with
the maid, and the few bars of soliloquy that follow, and presently she
was launched in the great duet with the Duke, who had stolen forward to
throw himself and his high note at her feet with such an air of real
devotion, that the elderly woman of the world who admired him felt
herself turning green with jealousy in the gloom of her box, and almost
cried out at him.

He took his full share of the tremendous applause that broke out at the
end, almost before the lovers had sung the last note of their parts,
but the public made it clear enough that most of it was for Margaret,
by yelling out, 'Brava, la Cordova!' again and again. The tenor was led
off through the house by the maid at last, and Margaret was left to
sing 'Caro nome' alone. Whatever may be said of _Rigoletto_ as a
composition--and out of Italy it was looked upon as a failure at
first--it is certainly an opera which of all others gives a lyric
soprano a chance of showing what she can do at her first appearance.

By this time Margaret was beyond the possibility of failure; she had at
first sung almost unconsciously, under the influence of a glorious
excitement like a beautiful dream, but she was now thoroughly aware of
what she was doing and sang the intricate music of the aria with a
judgment, a discrimination and a perfectly controlled taste which
appealed to the real critics much more than all that had gone before.
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. She was quietly dressed in a costume of very dark stuff,
she wore a veil, and few people would have recognised the dark, pale
face of the middle-aged woman now that it was no longer painted. She
leaned back in her box alone, watching the stage and calling up a
vision of herself, from long ago, singing for the first time in the
same house. For she had made her _debut_ in that very theatre, as
many great singers have done. It was all changed, the house, the
decorations, the stage entrance, but those same walls were standing
which had echoed to her young voice, the same roof was overhead, an