"No, no. Something operatic!" cried Antoinette, without giving him an opportunity to reply.
"Well, then, Miss Dupres; select something."
"Can't you favor us with 'Casta-Diva'?" returned the beauty,—with something very like a sneer.
Beulah's eyes gave a momentary flash; but by a powerful effort she curbed her anger and commenced the song.
It was amusing to mark the expression of utter astonishment which gradually overspread Antoinette's face, as the magnificent voice of her despised rival swelled in waves of entrancing melody through the lofty rooms. Eugene looked quite as much amazed. Beulah felt her triumph, and heartily enjoyed it. There was a sparkle in her eye and a proud smile on her lip, which she did not attempt to conceal. As she rose from the piano, Eugene caught her hand, and said eagerly:
"I never dreamed of your possessing such a voice. It is superb— perfectly magnificent! Why did not you tell me of it before?"
"You heard it long ago, in the olden time," said she, withdrawing her hand and looking steadily at him.
"Ah, but it has improved incredibly. You were all untutored then."
"It is the culture, then, not the voice itself? Eh, Eugene?"
"It is both. Who taught you?"