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at the same moment, and that if the public could look in upon them it would be very much surprised indeed. At the thought she forgot what she had been thinking of and smiled.

      The maid, who was holding her hair back where it escaped the comb, smiled too, and evidently considered that the relaxation of Margaret's buttered features was equivalent to a permission to speak.

      'It was a great triumph for Madame,' she observed. 'All the papers will praise Madame to-morrow. Madame saved many lives.'

      'Was Mr. Griggs in the house?' Margaret asked. 'I did not see him.'

      Alphonsine did not answer at once, and when she spoke her tone had changed.

      'Yes, Madame. Mr. Griggs was in the house.'

      Margaret wondered whether she had saved his life too, in his own estimation or in that of her maid, and while she pondered the question she buttered her nose industriously.

      Alphonsine took a commercial view of the case.

      'If Madame would appear three times more in New York, before sailing, the manager would give ten thousand francs a night,' she observed.

      Margaret said nothing to this, but she thought it would be amusing to show herself to an admiring public in her present condition.

      'Madame is now a heroine,' continued Alphonsine, behind her. 'Madame can ask anything she pleases. Several milliardaires will now offer to marry Madame.'

      'Alphonsine,' answered Margaret, 'you have no sense.'

      The maid smiled, knowing that her mistress could not see even the reflection of the smile in the glass; but she said nothing.

      'No sense,' Margaret repeated, with conviction. 'None at all'

      The maid allowed a few seconds to pass before she spoke again.

      'Or if Madame would accept to sing in one or two private houses in New York, we could ask a very great price, more than the manager would give.'

      'I daresay.'

      'It is certain,' said Alphonsine. 'At the French ball to which Madame kindly allowed me to go, the valet of Mr. Van Torp approached me.'

      'Indeed!' exclaimed Cordova absently. 'How very disagreeable!'

      'I see that Madame is not listening,' said Alphonsine, taking offence.

      What she said was so true that Margaret did not answer at all. Besides, the buttering process was finished, and it was time for the hot water. She went to the ugly stationary washstand and bent over it, while the maid kept her hair from her face. Alphonsine spoke again when she was sure that her mistress could not possibly answer her.

      'Mr. Van Torp's valet asked me whether I thought Madame would be willing to sing in church, at the wedding, the day after to-morrow,' she said, holding the Primadonna's back hair firmly.

      The head moved energetically under her hands. Margaret would certainly not sing at Mr. Van Torp's wedding, and she even tried to say so, but her voice only bubbled and sputtered ineffectually through the soap and water.

      'I was sure Madame would not,' continued the maid, 'though Mr. Van Torp's valet said that money was no object. He had heard Mr. Van Torp say that he would give five thousand dollars to have Madame sing at his wedding.'

      Margaret did not shake her head this time, nor try to speak, but Alphonsine heard the little impatient tap of her slipper on the wooden floor. It was not often that the Primadonna showed so much annoyance at anything; and of late, when she did, the cause had been connected with this same Mr. Van Torp. The mere mention of his name irritated her, and Alphonsine seemed to know it, and to take an inexplicable pleasure in talking about him—about Mr. Rufus Van Torp, formerly of Chicago, but now of New York. He was looked upon as the controlling intellect of the great Nickel Trust; in fact, he was the Nickel Trust himself, and the other men in it were mere dummies compared with him. He had sailed the uncertain waters of finance for twenty years or more, and had been nearly shipwrecked more than once, but at the time of this story he was on the top of the wave; and as his past was even more entirely a matter of conjecture than his future, it would be useless to inquire into the former or to speculate about the latter. Moreover, in these break-neck days no time counts but the present, so far as reputation goes; good fame itself now resembles righteousness chiefly because it clothes men as with a garment; and as we have the highest authority for assuming that charity covers a multitude of sins, we can hardly be surprised that it should be so generally used for that purpose. Rufus Van Torp's charities were notorious, aggressive, and profitable. The same sums of money could not have bought as much mingled advertisement and immunity in any other way.

      'Of course,' observed Alphonsine, seeing that Margaret would soon be able to speak again, 'money is no object to Madame either!'

      This subtle flattery was evidently meant to forestall reproof. But Margaret was now splashing vigorously, and as both taps were running the noise was as loud as that of a small waterfall; possibly she had not even heard the maid's last speech.

      Some one knocked at the door, and knocked a second time almost directly. The Primadonna pushed Alphonsine with her elbow, speaking being still impossible, and the woman understood that she was to answer the summons.

      She asked who was knocking, and some one answered.

      'It is Mr. Griggs,' said Alphonsine.

      'Ask him to wait,' Margaret succeeded in saying.

      Alphonsine transmitted the message through the closed door, and listened for the answer.

      'He says that there is a lady dying in the manager's room, who wants

       Madame,' said the maid, repeating what she heard.

      Margaret stood upright, turned quickly, and crossed the room to the door, mopping her face with a towel.

      'Who is it?' she asked in an anxious tone.

      'I'm Griggs,' said a deep voice. 'Come at once, if you can, for the poor girl cannot last long.'

      'One minute! Don't go away—I'm coming out.'

      Alphonsine never lost her head. A theatrical dresser who does is of no use. She had already brought the wide fur coat Margaret always wore after singing. In ten seconds the singer was completely clothed in it, and as she laid her hand on the lock to let herself out, the maid placed a dark Russian hood on her head from behind her and took the long ends twice round her throat.

      Mr. Griggs was a large bony man with iron-grey hair, who looked very strong. He had a sad face and deep-set grey eyes. He led the way without speaking, and Cordova walked quickly after him. Alphonsine did not follow, for she was responsible for the belongings that lay about in the dressing-room. The other doors on the women's side, which is on the stage left and the audience's right at the Opera, were all tightly closed. The stage itself was not dark yet, and the carpenters were putting away the scenery of the last act as methodically as if nothing had happened.

      'Do you know her?' Margaret asked of her companion as they hurried along the passage that leads into the house.

      'Barely. She is a Miss Bamberger, and she was to have been married the day after to-morrow, poor thing—to a millionaire. I always forget his name, though I've met him several times.'

      'Van Torp?' asked Margaret as they hastened on.

      'Yes. That's it—the Nickel Trust man, you know.'

      'Yes,' Margaret answered in a low tone. 'I was asked to sing at the wedding.'

      They reached the door of the manager's room. The clerks from the box-office and several other persons employed about the house were whispering together in the little lobby. They made way for Cordova and looked with curiosity at Griggs, who was a well-known man of letters.

      Schreiermeyer stood at the half-closed inner door, evidently waiting.

      'Come in,' he said to Margaret. 'The doctor is there.'

      The room

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