hm became more rapid, till it
reached a climax where the prima donna's voice jumped to a C in alt,
holding it long enough for the basso to thunder, "_Mon honneur et ma
foi_" twice. Then they all struck the attitudes for the closing tableau
and in one last burst of music sang all together, "_Mon Dieu, ayez pitie
de moi_" and "_de lui_" and "_d'elle_" and "_de nous_." Then the
orchestra closed with a long roll of the kettle-drums, and the prima
donna fainted into the arms of her confidante. The curtain fell.

There was a roar of applause. The gallery whistled and stamped. Every
one relaxed his or her position, drawing a long breath, looking about.
There was a general stir; the lights in the great glass chandelier
clicked and blazed up, and a murmur of conversation arose. The
footlights were lowered and the orchestra left their places and
disappeared underneath the stage, leaving the audience with the
conviction that they had gone out after beer. All over the house one
heard the shrill voices of boys crying out, "Op'ra books--books for the
op'ra--words and music for the op'ra."

Throughout the boxes a great coming and going took place and an
interchange of visits. The gentlemen out in the foyer stood about
conversing in groups or walked up and down smoking cigarettes, often
pausing in front of the big floral piece that was to be given to the
prima donna at the end of the great scene in the fourth act.

There was a little titter of an electric bell. The curtain was about to
go up, and a great rush for seats began. The orchestra were coming back
and tuning up. They sent up a prolonged medley of sounds, little minor
chirps and cries from the violins, liquid runs and mellow gurgles from
the oboes, flutes, and wood-wind instruments, and an occasional
deep-toned purring from the bass viols. A bell rang faintly from behind
the wings, the house lights sank, and the footlights blazed up. The
leader tapped with his baton; a great silence fell upon the house, while
here and there one heard an energetic "Ssh! ssh!" The fourth act was
about to begin.

When the curtain rose on the fourth act one saw the prima donna standing
in a very dejected pose in the midst of a vast apartment that might have
been a bedchamber, a council hall, or a hall of audience. She was alone.
She wore a loose cream-coloured gown knotted about the waist; her arms
were bare, and her hair unbound and flowing loose over her shoulders to
her girdle. She was to di