ation, even of what family,
none of them knew.

She seemed to be quite alone in the world, and against her even the
faintest rumor had never been heard; she was of irreproachable
propriety, nay, more, she was of angelic goodness--generous, truthful,
charitable and high-minded. There was not a whisper against her good
name--not one. She had a legion of admirers, none of whom could boast of
a favor; she answered no letters; she gave no interviews; she accepted
no invitations; she visited among some of the most exclusive circles,
where she was received as an equal; she had had offers of marriage that
would have made any other woman vain; she refused them all; she seemed
to live for her art, and nothing else. Such a description naturally
excited the curiosity of people, and the result was a house so crowded
that it was almost impossible to find room.

"We may think ourselves fortunate," said Lady Chandos. "I have never
seen the house so crowded, and, do not laugh, Lance, I do not see a
prettier toilet than my own."

Lady Chandos was always well pleased when her husband complimented her
on her dress; if he forgot it, she generally reminded him of it. She
looked very beautiful this evening; her dress was of white satin,
effectively trimmed with dead gold, and she wore diamonds with
rubies--no one there looked better than the queen of blondes.

"I am quite impatient to see La Vanira," she said to her husband. "I
wonder why she has chosen this opera, 'L'Etoile du Nord;' it is not the
usual thing for a _debutante_."

Then the words died on her lips and for some minutes she said no more.
The curtain was drawn up and Madame Vanira appeared. There was a dead
silence for some few minutes, then there was a storm of applause; her
beautiful face won it, her grand figure, her eyes, with their fire of
passion, seemed to demand it.

Of all characters, perhaps that of the loving, impassionate Star of the
North suited her best. In it she found expression for love, her passion
and despair. She stood before what was perhaps the most critical
audience in the world, and she thrilled them with her power. It was no
more a woman; she seemed more like an inspired sibyl; her audience hung
on every note, on every word from those wonderful lips; while she
charmed all ears she charmed all eyes; the beauty of her magnificent
face, the beauty of her superb figure, the grandeur of her attitudes,
the inimitable grace of her actions were something ne