"Hush! she's going to begin." Then ensued a silence in the company such as had always been Don Serapio's ideal—unrealizable like all ideals. Maria sang various operatic pieces which were asked for, and needed no urging. When she finished, the plaudits were so eager and long that it made her blush.
Suárez assured his circle[3] of ladies that she had a voice which resembled Nantier Didier's, and that a short time at the conservatory would put her on an equality with the leading contraltos.
When the congratulations had ceased, and the looks of all had ceased to be fastened upon her, a shade of sadness came over Maria's lovely face. She went to Doña Gertrudis and whispered in her ear,—
"Mamma, I have a very severe headache."
"Ay! daughter of my heart, I sympathize with you. I, too, am having my share of pain."
"I should like to go to bed."
"Then go, my daughter, go. I will say that you are feeling a trifle indisposed."
"Adios, mamaita! Good night, and sleep well."
Maria kissed her mother's brow, and gradually, taking care not to be noticed, she left the parlor by the dining-room door. She stopped to get a drink of eau sucré, and stood a moment motionless, with her eyes fixed on vacancy. The shade of melancholy had greatly dulled the brilliancy of her face.
She passed out of the dining-room and crossed a long and pretty dark entry. At the end there was a door which led to a back stairway. She had mounted only four or five steps when she felt herself seized roughly by the arm, and uttered a cry of terror. Turning round, she saw with embarrassment the pale and troubled face of her betrothed.