It wanted two days to Nello Corsini's assumption of his post as
director of the Imperial Opera, and to-night was the night of Countess
Golitzine's concert.
Nello was to play to-night in his private capacity of violinist, his
fame having already spread abroad through the good offices of the
Count. As soon as he took up his office as director he would not be
able to take on many private engagements. To use the language of
Degraux, he would be one of the exploiters rather than one of the
exploited.
The saloons of the Countess were very crowded. A rumour had gone
around that the Emperor himself would grace the function with his
august presence. This rumour, as the previous chapter has revealed,
was a false one; but its circulation had provided the hostess with
many guests who otherwise would not have put in an appearance.
Nello Corsini, at present unrecognised by the fashionable crowd which
had only heard of him by name, made his way amongst the beautifully
attired men and women. There was no familiar face amongst this vast
throng. For a moment he felt just a little home-sick; he thought of
his little sister Anita. Oh, why could he not have brought her?
And then, suddenly, his glance brightened. Standing a foot in front
of him were the grey-haired Princess Zouroff and her radiant, charming
daughter.
Nada stretched out a welcoming hand. "We must have raced each other
across Europe. I see you have your violin-case with you. You are going
to play."
"Yes, and I shall certainly play your favourite. I arrived just a day
or two in front of you, and of course, you have not heard of my good
fortune. Through the offices of Count Golitzine, I have been appointed
to the post of Director of the Imperial Opera."
The young girl opened her eyes wide; and turned to her mother. "What
do you think of that, dearest? Signor Corsini is appointed to the
directorship of the Imperial Opera."
The elder woman smiled, and replied in her calm, quiet accents,
directing her gaze at the young Italian.
"I told you, Signor, that the name of Salmoros was one to conjure with
in Russia."
Nello was about to reply, when the young Princess put her finger to
her lips. A sudden hush had spread over the assembly. A beautiful
young Spanish woman had just ascended the small platform--a young
woman known by the affectionate nickname of La Belle Quero.
She sang the well-known song from _Lucrezia Borgia_, "Il Segreto per
esse felice," in her deep, resonant, contralto tones. She sang it with
a vigour and abandon which placed beyond question the fact that she
was a superb artist, as well as a beautiful woman.
When she had finished, there was tremendous applause. An encore was
insisted on and granted by the obliging _prima donna_. The Count
Golitzine himself led the great singer from the platform to a seat.
His keen eye had already observed Corsini in attendance on the
Zouroffs. He beckoned to the young man, who made a hasty apology to
the Princess and her daughter.
"I have the pleasure of presenting one great artist to another," said
the Count in his suavest tones. "Signor Corsini, who will presently
enchant us on the violin, to Madame Quero, who has already captivated
us with her liquid notes. You have no doubt already heard, Madame,
that next week Signor Corsini takes over the post of Director of the
Imperial Opera."
Madame Quero--she had a husband knocking about somewhere in Spain, who
never came into her calculations or scheme of existence--flashed at
the handsome young Italian a very charming and provocative smile.
"We shall have to work together very soon, shall we not, Signor? I am
afraid you will find me a somewhat difficult person. It is just as
well we should meet first on neutral ground. Perhaps when we do
quarrel, we may be disposed to forgive each other the more readily for
that fact."
Nello was becoming quite a man of the world in this rarefied
atmosphere into which he had been so suddenly projected. He replied to
the raillery of the beautiful singer in becoming language. She swept
an approving glance over him.
"I think we shall soon be very good friends," she said in a gracious
voice. "Our present Director is a bit of a bully, and I believe hates
women." She shrugged her shapely shoulders. "Well, he is ancient and
cantankerous. You are young; I am sure you do not hate women, just
because they are the inferior sex."
The smile that accompanied the words became more seductive. Corsini
was a little put to it to preserve his equilibrium. He had been
welcomed cordially by a Princess and her charming daughter. Here was a
celebrated _prima donna_ of great beauty, openly declaring that she
was ready to flirt with him--ready to be made love to, if he were
disposed that way.
He paid her some gallant compliments, of the kind that come readily to
the lips of members of the Latin races; but, as he did so, his glance
stole unconsciously to the lovely young Princess, and involuntarily
there came into his eyes a light that was noted by the observant
Spanish woman.
"You admire the Princess Nada Zouroff immensely. Is it not so? You
have a good excuse; she is certainly very beautiful. An exquisite bud
rather than a full-grown rose, eh, my friend?"
"Perhaps, Madame," replied the diplomatic Italian. "But all flowers
are beautiful, whether in bud or full blossom."
"For myself, were I a man, I should not be very greatly attracted by
immaturity. We are using flowers in the form of an allegory. Of course
we are really speaking of women." She threw at him one of her most
dazzling smiles. There was nothing immature, nothing of the ripening
bud about the opulent beauty of La Belle Quero.
Corsini, seeing what was expected of him, returned that alluring smile
with a glance of respectful admiration. He had already gathered that
she was a popular idol, and wielded great influence in the musical
world.
Personally, he preferred the simpler and more modest loveliness of the
charming young Princess. But it was politic to win the good opinion of
such an influential personage, and she was evidently not the sort of
woman to tolerate rivalry.
For the next five minutes he made himself as agreeable as possible,
and the handsome singer was obviously impressed. Their conversation
was interrupted by the arrival of the conductor of the concert, who
intimated to Corsini that his would be the next turn.
Madame Quero rose. "I must not keep you. Well, I hope we shall be very
great friends. I shall stay to hear your solo and then I shall leave.
I feel just a little fatigued to-night; not quite in the mood for this
sort of scene, gay and brilliant as it is."
With a gracious inclination of her handsome head, she walked with her
graceful, swimming gait to the entrance of the big saloon. Arrived at
the doors she waited till Corsini was on the platform and listened
attentively to his performance. There was great applause when he had
finished, and she clapped her hands enthusiastically. The artist in
her responded to the artist in him. It would not be true to say that
she had not heard greater masters, but there was a subtle quality in
his playing that revealed true genius. He always excelled in the
appealing and sentimental passages.
But while she was listening, to all appearances with the closest
attention, her glance was ever roaming through the open doors, down
the grand staircase. It was evident that she was looking for somebody,
and restless and disappointed because of his non-arrival.
And then, just as she was preparing to leave, a sudden light came into
her beautiful eyes. The tall soldierly figure of Zouroff was ascending
the stairs.
Her smile was just a little cold, her tones reproachful.
"I was just going; you promised to be here in time to hear me sing.
Why are you so late?"
The Prince drew her a little out of earshot. He spoke with his usual
ease and assurance. He admired the beautiful singer more than any
woman of his acquaintance, but he never spoiled any member of the
gentler sex with too great a display of politeness or solicitude.
"Is it so very difficult to guess? There are certain things that must
always come first in a man's life."
"Spare me that ancient platitude. You have indulged in it so often."
Her voice was restrained and low, but there was a dangerous gleam in
her eyes. Zouroff appealed in many ways to her passionate but rather
hard nature, but there were times when his indifference, his brutal
frankness, cut her to the quick.
But the Prince was not a man to pay more than passing heed to the
symptoms of a woman's gathering displeasure. By nature he was a
savage. To a certain extent he was susceptible to female beauty and
fascination, but deep down in his heart he had a profound contempt for
women, for their uncontrolled feelings, their little tricks of
sentiment, their abject subservience to their emotions.
"Things go well," he said, in his hard, level tones. "I trust we shall
not have to wait very long now. We held a very important meeting
to-night; it was prolonged beyond the hour I expected. That is why I
am late and could not get here in time to hear you sing."
The beautiful singer seemed but half appeased by this rather curt
apology. It confirmed what he had told her so often before, that
overwhelming ambition, the advancement of his political schemes, were
all powerful influences in his life; that a woman's devoted affection
weighed but as a feather in the scale against these.
"Let us talk of other things," she said, speaking in a tone of assumed
lightness.
"But I thought you took a great interest in these matters. At any rate
you have pretended to." His voice was hard and rasping, and there was
a sneer in it, an angry gleam in his eyes. He could not bear to be
crossed.
"At the proper time and place. But I don't choose to talk of just one
subject every moment we spend together. I am pleased, my friend, that
the prospects are so good. And now, for a few seconds, shall we talk
of those other things which are not quite so unimportant to the world
in general as they appear to you."
"And those other things?" inquired Zouroff in his surliest and most
repellant manner.
"Well, for example, we have just been listening to our new Director of
the Opera, Signor Corsini. He has played some very beautiful things;
he is a fine artist. Have you met him yet?"
Zouroff frowned heavily. "Yes, I have. The fellow played once at the
Embassy in London, and my mother and sister raved about him. You know
I am no judge of instrumental music--rather dislike it than otherwise.
And this young man seemed to me particularly objectionable."
"I wonder why?" inquired the _prima donna_ with a most innocent
expression. "Just because your mother and sister admired his genius?
What a very insufficient reason."
Zouroff vouchsafed no reply to this delicate raillery, and Madame
Quero continued in the same detached, indifferent tones. "The Count
introduced him to me; we had a long chat together. I think he is a
most charming young man, quite unaffected, with delightful manners and
very handsome. I predict he will be excessively popular."
"I wonder if you realise how much you are annoying me when you talk in
this manner?" asked the Prince roughly.
La Belle Quero held out her hand. "My friend, it seems to me you are
in rather a savage mood to-night, and I am not in the best of tempers
myself. If we talk much longer we may have a serious quarrel. I will
say good-night."
"Good-night," said the Prince in a low and harsh voice. "Perhaps it is
as well we should separate. There are a lot of people here I must
speak to."
Madame Quero turned towards the staircase. He strode after her and
laid his big, strong hand none too gently on her arm.
"And please listen once and for all to me. If it pleases you to amuse
yourself with this young Corsini, or for the matter of that with any
other effeminate foreigner, you need fear no interference from me.
Understand that."
Tears of rage came into the beautiful eyes. "Take your hand away, you
savage, you are hurting me. As for what you have just said in your
usual brutal manner, I perfectly grasp your meaning. And please also
to understand this from me. If I choose to turn my fancy in that or
any other direction, I shall not trouble to consult you, much less beg
for your permission."
With a muttered curse Zouroff released her arm, whose delicate flesh
he had bruised, turned on his heel and re-entered the concert saloon.
And next morning, Golitzine, whose sharp eyes had noted the pleasant
talk between Corsini and the beautiful singer, also the way in which
Zouroff had flung away from her as she descended the grand staircase,
was able to report to his Imperial Master that the first act in the
little comedy had opened well.