ld together by the invisible hands within. Margaret thought
of the statue of Balzac.

[Illustration: "Margaret sprang to her feet with an apology."]

'I thought it was Caravita,' said Madame Bonanni. 'We are great friends
you know. I sometimes find her waiting for me. But who in the world are
you?'

'Margaret Donne.'

'Ah, bah!' exclaimed the great singer again, the two syllables being
apparently her only means of expressing surprise.

'But I told your servant----' Margaret began.

'Why have you not made your _debut_?' cried Madame Bonanni, interrupting
her, and shaking her disordered locks as if in protest. 'You have
millions in your throat! Why do you come here? To ask advice? To let me
hear you sing? Let the public hear you! What are you waiting for?
To-morrow you will be old! And all singers are young. How old do you
think I am? Forty-five, perhaps, because it is printed so! Not a bit of
it! A prima donna is never over thirty, never, never, never! Imagine
Juliet over thirty, or Lucia! Pah! The idea is horrible! Fortunately,
all tenors are fat. A Juliet of thirty may love a fat Romeo, but at
forty it would be disgusting, positively disgusting! I am sick at the
mere thought.'

Margaret stood up, resting one hand on the corner of the piano and
smiling at the torrent of speech. Yet all the time, while Madame
Bonanni was saying things that sounded absurd enough, the young girl
was conscious that the handsome brown eyes were studying her quietly
and perhaps not unwisely.

'I am twenty-two,' she said by way of answer.

'I made my _debut_ when I was twenty,' answered the prima donna. 'But
then,' she added, as if in explanation, 'I was married before I was
seventeen.'

'Indeed!' Margaret exclaimed politely.

'Yes. He died. Let us sing! I always want to sing when I come out of my
bath. Do you know the duo at the beginning of the fourth act? Yes?
Good. I will sing Romeo. Oh yes, I can sing the tenor part--it is very
high for a man. Sit down. Imagine that you admire me and that the lark
is trying to imitate the nightingale so that we need not part. We have
not heard it yet. The man is beginning to turn up the dawn outside the
window behind us, but we do not see it. We are perfectly happy. Now,
begin!'

The chords sounded softly, the two voices blended, rose and fell and
died away. The elder woman's rich lower tones imitated a tenor voice
well enough to give Margaret the little illusion she needed, and her
overf