The Brother of Daphne Part 68

"Such as to-day."

"By Jove, so it is. I thought one was about due. Now I come to think of it, I nearly had one just now."

"When?"

"When you asked me what I should like."

In silence she traced a pattern upon the white cloth with a small pink finger. I watched it, and wondered whether her eyes were smiling. I couldn't see them, but her mouth looked as if it wanted to. Then:

"I think you'd better tell me when the interval's coming," she said quietly. "One usually goes out--"

"You're thinking of Plays," said I. "Between Acts II and III ten minutes and the safety curtain. But with Life and fools it's different. You don't go out in these intervals."

"No?"

"No," I said. "On the contrary, it's where you come in."

She looked up, smiling, at that. I addressed her eyes. "You see, in Life it's just the intervals that count--those rare hours when, though the band's not playing, there's music in the air; though the world's standing still, and no one's looking on, there's most afoot; though the--"

Here the door opened, and Madame came in, Yvonne at her heels.

"It is the interval," she explained. "Thank you."

Oh, but she was in fine fettle, was Madame.

"My voice is good to-night. It is you two that have helped me. You are so young and goodly. And I have a box, the Royal box--they are not using it, you see--if you would like to hear the rest of the opera.

Yes? But you must come back and say 'Good night' to me afterwards."

Our murmured thanks she would have none of. Supper and a box was little enough. Had she not nearly killed us both an hour ago?

"But now I shall sing to you, and you will forgive me. I am in voice to-night. Is it not so, Yvonne?"

"But, Madame!"

The ecstasy of Yvonne was almost pathetic.

The ceremony with which we were installed in the Royal box was worthy of the Regent himself. But then Madame was a very great lady. The lights in the house did not go down for a minute, and I peered over the rim of the balcony to see if I could locate Berry and Co. Suddenly I saw Jill, and Berry next to her. He was staring straight at the Royal box, and his face was a study. He must have seen me come in. Then the lights died, and the curtain went up.

The singing of Madame I cannot describe. It was not of this world.

And we knew her. We were her friends. She was our hostess. To the house she was the great artiste--a name to whisper, a figurehead to bow before. For us, we were listening to the song of a friend. As she had promised, she sang to us. There was no mistaking it. And the great charm of her welled out in that wonderful voice. All the spirit of melody danced in her notes. When she was singing, there seemed to be none but us in the theatre, and soon no theatre--only us in the world.

We two only stepped by her side, walked with her, understood.

Actually the girl and I sat spellbound, smiling down as she smiled up from the stage. We knew afterwards that we had been sitting hand-in-hand, as children do.

At the end of it all the house rose at her. Never was there such a scene. We rose, too, and stood smiling. Somehow we did not applaud.

She just smiled back.

"Shall we go?" said I.

"Yes."

As I turned to the door, I caught sight of four faces looking earnestly up from the stalls. I bowed gravely. An attendant was waiting in the corridor, and we were escorted through the iron door the way we had come.

Madame sat in a deep arm-chair in the sitting-room, her hair all about her shoulders. She looked tired. Virtue had gone out of her.

"Ah, my dears," she said. My companion kneeled by her side and put her arms round her neck. Then she spoke and kissed her. I do not know what she said. The other held her very close for a moment, then looked at me and smiled. I raised her hand to my lips.

"I cannot say anything, Madame."

"It is all said. We have spoken together for the last half-hour. Is it not so?"

"It is so, Madame."

After a little, my companion said we must be going.

"He will see me to my hotel," she said.

"I do not like letting you go," said our hostess, "but I take long to dress. My car shall carry you home and return for me. Yvonne, see to that. Yes, there will be plenty of time. Besides, you have driven enough in taxis for to-day. What have you lost, my dear?"

The girl was looking about her.

"I think I must have left it in the box--my chain bag. How silly!"

"My dear, I leave everything everywhere"

"I will get it," said I. Yvonne had gone for the car. Besides, I wanted to go.

"Oh, thank you. It's quite a small gold--"

"I know it," said I, smiling.

"Can you find your way?" said Madame. "The house will be almost in darkness."

"Oh, yes, Madame."

A moment later I was in the corridor beyond the iron door. It was quite dark, but twenty paces away a faint suggestion of light showed where the door of the Royal box stood open. When I reached it, I saw that a solitary lamp was burning on the far side of the stalls. After glancing at it, the darkness of the box seemed more impenetrable. I felt for the little gold bag--on the balcony, on the chair, on the floor. It was nowhere. I stood up and peered into the great, dim auditorium, wondering whether I dared strike a match. Fearing that there might be a fireman somewhere in the darkness, I abandoned the idea. The sudden flash might be seen, and then people would come running, and there would have to be explanations. I went down on my hands and knees, and felt round her chair and then mine, and then all over the box. Just as I got up, my right hand encountered something hard and shiny. Clearly it wasn't what I was looking for, but out of curiosity I stooped to feel it again. I groped in vain for a moment; then I put my hand full on the buckle of a patent-leather shoe. As my fingers closed about a warm ankle:

"Pardon, monsieur!" came a quick whisper.

I let go. "Is that you, Yvonne?"

"Si, monsieur."

"I never heard you come in."

"I have come this moment, and did not see monsieur in the dark. Madame has sent me. Monsieur cannot find that little bag?"