Although the immediate result of Lavirotte's first engagement in
London was so modest, still he had gained a start, and that, in his
profession, was a great deal.
O'Donnell was not impatient. His position was grave, even serious. But
still he did not give way. Like Lavirotte, he had now abandoned all
extravagant pretensions, and would have been very glad to take the
most modest salary. Neither he nor Lavirotte would even yet accept any
subsidiary part. Either would have gladly gone to the provinces for
six guineas a week, but neither would take second part.
Lavirotte was offered the leadership of the tenors in a chorus. This
he flatly refused, and with heat. He came to Eugene and told him what
he had been offered, and Eugene agreed with him in thinking there was
more affront than flattery in the offer. "Let them," cried Eugene,
indignantly, "keep their five guineas a week. I'd rather see you,
Dominique, back at the old work again than degrade yourself by
accepting such a position."
From time to time Eugene received small sums from Glengowra. Lavirotte
had no such resources, and one day he came in to Eugene and said: "I
am paying eight shillings a week for my room, and there's St. Prisca's
Tower idle all this time. I am not, you know, as rich as Rothschild,
and what is the good of throwing away money! I'm going to live in the
tower again."
"For heaven's sake, don't do anything of the kind!" said Eugene.
"Why not?" asked Lavirotte.
"Because the place is haunted," said O'Donnell, with a shudder.
"You are not such a fool," said Lavirotte, "as to believe anything so
superstitious."
"I don't mean what I say literally, but poor Mr. Crawford lost his
life there. You were very near losing your life there, and upon the
sad occasion of your last visit to London you put up there. To say the
least of it, that tower must have a very gloomy aspect in your mind."
"Gloom or no gloom," said Lavirotte bitterly, "eight shillings a week
are eight shillings a week. Besides," he added, changing his tone and
adopting a lighter manner, "I know they don't care for my caterwauling
in the house I'm living in now, and St. Prisca's Tower is a splendid
place for practising in. You might shout your voice away there, and
not a soul would hear you. Eugene, you must come and practise with me
there. I haven't got a piano, that's true, and the way up is a very
rough-and-ready one. But anyway you'll know you're welcome, and we can
puzzle along with a fork."
He took the fork out of his waistcoat pocket, struck it, sang the
note, and then took the octave above. "True, isn't it, Eugene?" he
cried, laughingly.
"As the tone of the steel itself," cried Eugene. "Let us try the
garden bit in unison. Here's 'Faust.'"
"Damn 'Faust'!" said Lavirotte. "Come on, I'll set you going:
"The bright stars fade, the morn is breaking,
The dew-drops pearl each bud and leaf,
When I of thee my leave am taking,
With bliss too brief."
"No," said Eugene. "Not that. I remember----"
"And do you think I forget?"