“Yes, we have sent to ask her. One trial does not make a complete failure.”
Gradually there was silence, and in the midst of it the singer returned. I do not think she recognised anything about her. Her whole mind seemed bent upon her task; she scarce appeared to recognise her previous failure, except perhaps in the first line, when for one second her voice seemed about to break.
The song was different from the other. It was extremely simple, and whatever beauty it contained was derived from its simplicity. In the last lines I noticed again that her voice trembled, and silence fell once more.
Presently there came another voice from another part of the room, “Utterly absurd!” and another, “I had hardly the patience to listen to the end!” and another, “Does this creature imagine our understanding to be no higher than her own?”
Amid this laughter and these taunts she withdrew again. But not for long. I think they must have sent again for her, because she soon returned. And this time I could tell the laughter and contempt had had effect.
She sang again, and every line was steeped in a bitter and absorbing passion. Whether there was any beauty in it I could hardly say. At the end, however, she was met with stony silence; none took the trouble to make the slightest observation. Suddenly the orchestra struck up some wonderful soft dance music, and with a step as light as foam on water she tripped off the stage. At this they clapped and laughed.
“She missed her vocation. She should have been a ballet girl,” Plucritus said to me. Then he rose quickly. “Come with me,” he went on, “I had nearly forgotten I brought you here as an observer; come quickly.”
I remember we went out at a door on the side near the stage. It led down a lighted corridor which was empty and rather cold. From this we went down a darker passage with one light burning at the end, and along the passage were low doors at frequent intervals.
He stopped before one of these and opened it and went in, I following. The door closed behind us, and I found we were in a cell very similar to those I had visited earlier with Vestné.
The same ghostly light flickered along the wall and shone beside the altar. The woman who had sung knelt beside it, her arms stretched across it, her face buried against the hard board.