ack, my child, and bow." Baroni impelled her gently towards
the door. "_Gran Dio_! What a success! . . . What a voice of heaven!"

Rather nervously, Diana mounted the platform once more, stepping
forward a little shyly; her cheeks were flushed, and her wonderful eyes
shone like grey stars. A fillet of pale green leaves bound her
smoke-black hair, and the slender, girlish figure in its sea-green
gown, touched here and there with gold embroidery, reminded one of
spring, and the young green and gold of daffodils.

Instantly the applause redoubled. People were surging forward towards
the platform, pressing round an unfortunate usher who was endeavouring
to hand up a sheaf of roses to the singer. Diana bowed, and bowed
again. Then she stooped and accepted the roses, and a fresh burst of
clapping ensued. A wreath of laurel, and a huge bunch of white
heather, for luck, followed the sheaf of roses, and finally, her arms
full of flowers, smiling, bowing still, she escaped from the platform.

Back again in the artistes' room, she found that a number of her
friends in front had come round to offer their congratulations. Alan
Stair and Joan, Jerry, and Adrienne de Gervais were amongst them, and
Diana at once became the centre of a little excited throng, all
laughing and talking and shaking her by the hand. Every one seemed to
be speaking at once, and behind it all still rose and fell the
cannonade of shouts and clapping from the hall.

Four times Diana returned to the platform to acknowledge the tremendous
ovation which her singing had called forth, and at length, since Baroni
forbade an encore until after her second group of songs, Madame de
Louvigny went on to give her solo.

"They weel not want to hear me--after you, Mees Quentin," she said
laughingly.

But the British public is always very faithful to its favourites, and
the audience, realising at last that the new singer was not going to
bestow an encore, promptly exerted itself to welcome the French pianist
in a befitting manner.

When Diana reappeared for her second group of song's the excitement was
intense. Whilst she was singing a pin could have been heard to fall;
it almost seemed as though the huge concourse of people held its breath
so that not a single note of the wonderful voice should be missed, and
when she ceased there fell a silence--that brief silence, like a sigh
of ecstasy, which, is the greatest tribute that any artiste can receive.

Then