top to
listen, and entered the box again, shutting the door behind her.

The curtain went up before Lushington came back, but the prima donna
did not look at the stage and scarcely heard the tenor's lament, the
chorus and the rest. She seemed quite lost in her thoughts. Then
Lushington appeared with a big dark cloak on his arm.

'Will this do, mother?' he asked.

She stood up and made him put it over her. It had a hood, as she had
wished, which quite covered her head and would cover her face, too, if
she wished not to be recognised.

'It's just what I wanted,' she said. 'Hang it on the hook by the door,
and sit down. Gilda will be on in a minute.'

Lushington obeyed, and if he wondered a little at first why his mother
should want a big cloak on a suffocating evening in July, he soon
forgot all about it in listening to Margaret's duet with Rigoletto. His
mother sat perfectly motionless in her seat, her eyes closed, following
every note.

At the end of the short act, the applause became almost riotous, and if
Margaret had appeared before the curtain she would have had an ovation.
But in the first place, it was only a rehearsal, after all, and
secondly there was no one to call her back after she had gone to her
dressing-room to dress for the last act. She heard the distant roar,
however, and felt the tide of triumph rising still higher round her
heart. If she had been used to her cadaverous maid, too, she would have
seen that the woman's manner was growing more deferential each time she
saw her. Success was certain, now, a great and memorable success, which
would be proclaimed throughout the world in a very few days. The new
star was rising fast, and it was the sallow-faced maid's business to
serve stars and no others.

For the first scene of the last act Gilda puts on a gown over her man's
riding-dress; and when Rigoletto sends her off, she has only to drop
the skirt, draw on the long boots and throw her riding-cloak round her
to come on for the last scene. Of course the prima donna is obliged to
come back to her dressing-room to make even this slight change.

Madame Bonanni was speaking earnestly to Lushington in an undertone
during the interval before the last act, and as he listened to what she
said his face became very grave, and his lips set themselves together
in a look which his mother knew well enough.

The act proceeded, and Margaret's complete triumph became more and more
a matter of certainty. She sa