e very thick black horsehairs stuck in with glue, in rows.

She shook her solid fist at Schreiermeyer and blinked violently again.

'It is outrageous!' she cried again. 'Do you understand?'

'Perfectly.'

'Schreiermeyer!' screamed Madame Bonanni. 'If you take no more notice
of my complaints than that I refuse to finish the opera. I will not
sing the rest of it! Find somebody else to go on. I am going home!
Undress me!' she cried, turning to the three perspiring maids, not one
of whom moved an inch at her summons. 'Oh, you won't? You are afraid of
him? Ah, bah! I am not. Schreiermeyer, I refuse to go on; I absolutely
refuse. Go away! I am going to undress.'

Thereupon she tore off her brown wig with a single movement and threw
it across the room. It struck the wall with a thud and fell upon the
floor, a limp and shapeless mass. The cadaverous maid instantly picked
it up and began smoothing it. Madame Bonanni's own dark hair stood on
end, giving her a decidedly wild look.

Schreiermeyer smiled perceptibly.

'Miss Donne will go on and sing the rest of the opera with pleasure, I
have no doubt,' he said, gently, looking at Margaret.

The girl's heart stood still for an instant at this sudden proposal,
before she realised that the manager was not in earnest.

'Of course she can sing it!' chimed in Madame De Rosa, understanding
perfectly. 'But our dear friend is much too kind to disappoint the
Parisian public,' she added, turning to the prima donna and speaking
soothingly.

'Nothing can move that man!' cried Madame Bonanni, in a helpless tone.

'Nothing but the sound of your marvellous voice, my angel artist,' said
Schreiermeyer. 'That always makes me weep, especially in the last act
of this opera.'

Margaret could not fancy the manager blubbering, though she had more
than once seen people in front with their handkerchiefs to their eyes
during the scene in the tomb.

'Put my wig on,' said Madame Bonanni to the cadaverous maid, and she
sat down in front of the toilet-table. 'We must talk business at once,'
she continued, suddenly speaking with the utmost calm. 'The appointment
is at my house, at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, Schreiermeyer. Miss
Donne will sing for us. Bring a pianist and the Minister of Fine Arts
if you can get him.'

'I have not the Minister of Fine Arts in my pocket, dearest lady,'
observed the manager, 'but I will try. Why do you name such a very
early hour?'

'Because I breakfast at elev