* * * * *
"There is Josef now; look, Mrs. Ravenel!" Mrs. Lennox cried, pointing to
a man who had just entered the stage box. "The man with the iron-gray
hair. And the eyes! Did you ever see such eyes? And who is that with
him? Great Heavens," she exclaimed, "it is that pervasive Irishman who
was down in North Carolina, Dermott McDermott!"
Josef, pale as a statue, had taken a place in the shadow of the box,
back from the reach of opera-glasses. His hands trembled, and at times
his lips twitched backward, as one who has lost control through too long
a strain.
"Do look out for him," Katrine had said to Dermott, the night before,
between tears and a smile. "I can get through it all right, but I am
fearful it may kill Josef. He takes me very seriously, you know."
A heavy knocking came. The leader took his place. The overture began,
and when the curtain rose Campanali received the genuine ovation which
was his due. At the conclusion of that great duet, "Be Mine the
Delight," there was the vision of Marguerite at the spinning-wheel, and,
after three years, Francis Ravenel saw Katrine, but in a blurred vision
with fold upon fold of gauze between them. Finally the soldiers and
maidens disappeared, and there came an expectant hush. One heard _now_!
The pause was marked, intentional, before there came toward the
footlights, in their most relentless glare, a girl with gladness and joy
in her very walk. Neither a heavy German peasant girl nor a French
soubrette. No dreary, timid, _mädchen_, but a glad young soul conscious
of nothing save joy, with the beauty in her face of youth and power as
she looked at the gay throng of the fair. Then, with the gaze of the
entire house upon her, her eyes encountered those of Faust. There was no
start of surprise, but, as though drawn to him by a law beyond control,
her eyes rested in his, and with no gesture, without a note sung, with
nothing but a change in expression, one understood great love had come
to her, the first love of a woman, which is never lived over nor
forgotten.
And Francis Ravenel, sitting back of the others in the box, recalled
that look and drew behind the curtains. In memory, soft arms were round
his throat as a voice, the same, yet not the same, sang:
"No signor, not a lady am I,
Nor yet a beauty,
And do not need an arm
To guide me on my way."
A golden voice, with tones so breathed they had the liquidness of the
bluebird's call, as Paris held its breath before the beauty and wonder
of it; a voice which Frank remembered amid the pine and honeysuckle
underneath the night blue of the Carolinas, saying:
"God keep you always just as you are, beloved."
* * * * *
From the first scene to the clear end, when, in the divine trio,
Campanali, Rigard, and Katrine caught fire from each other and went mad
together, in that great, strong music where right triumphs, as the song
climbs higher and higher in its great insistence, it was such triumph as
no first performance had been in the memory of our generation, a success
that admitted no cavilling or question, a success indisputable and
unparalleled, and before the performance was ended the papers were
chronicling, for the ends of the earth, that a world star had arisen in
the firmament of song.
McDermott's face was an open book for all who cared to read. The one
woman on earth for him was triumphing, and his thoughts were all for
her, and Master Josef saw and noted even in his excitement and
trembling.
Frank, too, gloried in Katrine's success, but underneath the pleasure
there was a senseless jealousy, a resentment of the position in which it
placed her to him. And the conduct of Dermott McDermott during the
evening was another bitter morsel for his palate; for the Irishman
carried an air of ownership of everything, even of Josef; gave an
appraising and managerial attention to the audience; and bowed to
Katrine, when she smiled at him over a huge bunch of green orchids with
an Irish flag in the ribbons, with such an air of proprietorship that it
made the time scarcely endurable to Frank. But he played the game by a
masterly method, and drew nearer to Anne, looking into her eyes with the
devotion which he knew so well how to assume, despising himself as he
did so. But after the last _brava_ had been given and he had put his
mother into the brougham, saying, abruptly, that he preferred to walk,
his heart and head came to an unexpected encounter. He stood alone,
unnoting the passers-by, oblivious of the superfluous praise of
Katrine's voice which he heard in the broken talk, looking into the
distant sky at the two great towers of Notre Dame.
It was not far to the De Nemours' house. Although very late, it would
doubtless be filled with friends congratulating Katrine, and under the
circumstances, he reasoned, there could seem no precipitancy in calling
immediately to offer congratulations.
He found the house a blaze of light, with servants going back and forth
with arms full of flowers. In front there were many carriages and
fiacres. By the entrance arch were several newspaper men, one of whom
spoke Frank's name as he passed. Everywhere there was an air of bustle
and disorder. On the second floor he saw lights being carried from one
room to another, as though hurried preparations were being made.
Giving his card to the French servant, who had ushered him with an
important and excited manner into a small reception-room, he waited. His
heart throbbed like a school-boy's with his first love. In a minute he
would see her, would hold her hand. In his pocket he carried a letter,
one of Katrine's many letters, to "The Dear Unknown."
"I have not forgotten this old love," she had written, "I shall never
forget. I never close my eyes without thinking of him nor without a
prayer for him upon my lips."
Suddenly there came a laugh, a jolly, musical sound of real mirth, and
he heard Dermott's voice dominating and directing on the upper floor.
Immediately after there came a silence, and then, from the turn in the
stairs, he heard the same voice, with a touch of insolence, speaking to
the servant to whom he had given the card:
"Say to Mr. Ravenel that Mademoiselle Dulany regrets that it is
impossible for her to see him." And then, with a dramatic note, "Tell
him," the Irishman added, "she leaves within an hour to sing before the
Queen."