The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 13

"The effort had been too much for her. Of course, such genius was accompanied with corresponding sensitiveness, but she would speedily recover. It was only a little interruption."

They were mistaken. The debutante did not return that night; but in her place came Olympia, with a little tragedy in her face, and a touching speech, which excited admiration for herself and unbounded sympathy for her protege; after which, she entered into the character of Violette, with a grace of action and a power of voice that carried the management through what had threatened to be a serious dilemma.

The truth is, this woman, Olympia, was a remarkably clever person, and knew how to manage her subjects a great deal better than some monarchs of England have done. But she was in a raging pa.s.sion that night, and the excitement lent her force, which she exhausted in the part, while her child lay moaning on the dressing-room sofa.

In the midst of the first confusion, that young girl in the box had started up, and laid her hand on Hepworth Closs's arm.

"Go back to where they have taken her. You know the way. Tell my maid, Margaret, to come to me at once. No, no; take me with you. I may be of use. Poor girl! poor girl! They have almost killed her."

"But it is impossible," said Closs, looking toward Lady Hope, who was leaning against the side of the box, with her face turned away. "She would not permit it."

"She does not object. We need not be seen. No one will recognize us.

Come! come!"

She took Hepworth's arm, and almost forced him from the box.

"Which way? Come! come! I will go."

Hepworth had been too often behind the scenes not to know how to gain admittance there on this occasion. He knew how resolute that young creature was, when a generous or daring idea possessed her, and, after waiting a moment for Lady Hope to speak, led Lady Clara away.

Clara was bewildered and almost terrified by the black darkness of the pa.s.sage, which was lighted only by fitful gleams from the stage; but excitement kept up her courage, and she entered Olympia's dressing-room with the air of a person born to the tragic purple.

CHAPTER X.

THE TWO FOSTER-CHILDREN MEET.

Caroline was lying upon a heap of rich garments piled on the sofa. She was trembling still, and every few moments a burst of bitter sobs broke from her. Three women were standing by--her own maid, Eliza, upon whose sympathetic face tears were trembling; Margaret, her sister; and, most conspicuous of all, Olympia's French maid, who bent over the poor girl, with a bottle of perfume in each hand, with which she insisted on a.s.suaging the unhappy girl's anguish.

Lady Clara comprehended the scene at a glance, went up to the sofa, took the French maid by the shoulders, and wheeled her away so swiftly that the bottles jingled; then she fell upon her knees by the sofa, and flung one arm over Caroline.

"Don't mind them; don't let them bother you. Just tell me what has come over you, and I'll set it right, or know the reason why."

The voice, so sweet, so round and cheering, aroused Caroline.

She rose up on her elbow, and seeing the bright, honest face which had bent toward her so kindly from the box, reached out her arms, and wound them over Clara's neck.

"That's right; that's sisterly. I wish you were my sister; but what's the use of wishing? There! kiss me again, for I mean to be a mother to you--I do, indeed! Now tell me, what was it that struck you down so? It was frightful; it took away my breath. Tell me all about it. My maid here and yours were sisters, and I shouldn't wonder if we knew each other in America. But that is so long ago, it wouldn't signify, but for the maids, who love us so, that it makes a sort of tie. Don't you think so?"

"Oh, if it could! if it could! I have no relative but one, and she will not pity me!" cried Caroline, clinging to Lady Clara. "She will make me go back to that hateful part! It was bad enough before, but now I should die of shame!"

"Why? Why now more than at first?" inquired Clara.

"I will tell you. I know who you are, and how good every one thinks you.

I hate the stage!"

"How strange! I cannot understand it. You don't know how I envied you when all those people started up, waving their handkerchiefs and shouting--to see them so sorry and disappointed when you did not come back. I could hardly keep myself from leaping over the box, and asking the crowd to let me try!"

Caroline looked into that animated face with wonder. The tears stood still on her cheeks, a faint smile crept into her eyes. Then she shook her head.

"Ah! I understand. There was a time when I thought like you, but that was before--before--"

"Before what? Margaret and the rest of you, just go outside. The room isn't large enough for so many. There, we are alone now. Just tell me all about it. You can trust me."

"I know it. Well, Lady Clara--you see I know your name--"

"Exactly. But just call me Clara--nothing more. I really don't care for being a lady--at any rate, not much. That one thing is going to give me any amount of trouble yet, you'll see. Well, now, having settled the lady, tell me why and when you began to hate the stage so. I think it is a glorious life. Just put me where you stand, without a sovereign to help myself with, and I'd give up the ladyship to you in a minute."

"But that is because you own your life."

"Own my life? Of course I do. That is just what every soul must own."

"Not if--if she cares for some one more than her life."

"Oh-e! oh-e! That is the secret! And he don't like it? The heathen! I wish he had seen you just now!"

"He did. He was standing in the box close by you. I saw his face, for the first time in months. He was leaning forward; his eyes met mine.

They were full of reproach--contempt, perhaps. I could not tell, for the house swam round, the lights seemed leaping toward me. Then I felt as if the noise were putting them out, for everything grew dark."

"And you fainted dead away, poor dear! I know how to pity you. Not that I have had trouble yet; but it is sure to come, and then, of course, you will be sorry for me."

"I shall, indeed."

"Just as I am sorry for you now. But who is the man?"

"I hardly think I know. He gave me an Italian name, but I feel sure it was not his."

"That accounts for his antipathy to the stage. If he had really been an Italian, your singing would have entranced him. It was heavenly; but an Englishman--. Well, well, we must see!"

That moment the door swung open, and Olympia came in, radiant with jewels and fierce with anger. She saw Lady Clara, and stopped upon the threshold in haughty astonishment. Caroline shrank from the stormy expression of her face, but faltered out:

"Madame, it is Lady Clara, the daughter of Lord Hope."

Instantly the frown lost itself in a bland smile. Olympia was equal to her part at all times. She did not often see a lady of rank in her dressing-room, and the honor drove away the indignant wrath intended for Caroline.

"Ah!" she said, "this poor child--it was so unfortunate! But she will recover. In a day or two she will get back her courage. What a voice she has, my lady! Did you hear? So fresh, so powerful, up to the very time when she broke down. What could have occasioned it?"

"It is indeed a misfortune," said Clara, with some dignity; "because I am sure she will never do for the stage. Her voice is superb, but so uncertain! When we compare it with yours, madame, it is to regret that she ever ventured so far."

Olympia seated herself. She had a few moments to spare before the call-boy would summon her back to the stage.

"There you mistake, my lady. When I was her age no one ever dreamed that I would succeed as a singer; but you see what resolution and study can do."

"But you _had_ study; your guardians gave plenty of time. Let her have that time; let her friends have an opportunity to think what is best for her."