The hot blood rushed to Marion's face; then as suddenly receded, leaving it deathly white. She rose from the piano, and with a firm step and untrembling lips walked quietly to her seat. But although externally she was so calm as to appear almost indifferent, her mind was in a state of the wildest excitement. The air immediately about her seemed filled with a confusion of sounds, rushing, whirring, whirling about her; while the dead silence of the room seemed to take palpable shape and weight, crushing upon her, until she felt as if she must rush from the room to break through the unbearable stillness, or scream aloud to silence the imaginary sounds that were ringing in her ears.
But she did neither; she sat quietly in her seat, the object of stealthy but almost general scrutiny. Some of the girls looked at her with pitying, sympathizing eyes; those who did not like her exchanged glances of satisfaction; but all refrained from speaking to her, or otherwise showing their sympathy,—all but Florence; she slipped her hand into her friend's, and there it remained for the rest of the evening.
When Marion first struck the piano, and Georgie Graham saw what she was about to play, her rage and indignation knew no bounds; but when the music fell, and Marion stood mortified, and, as she thought, disgraced in the eyes of every one, her spirits rose to a most unparalleled height, and elated and radiant with satisfaction she took her seat at the piano, and played the Polonaise almost faultlessly; better than she had ever played it before.
With the exception of Marion, all the pupils acquitted themselves with a great deal of credit; but for a while her failure seemed to cast a slight shadow over the evening's enjoyment; for her beauty, and the heroic manner with which she had borne her disgrace, aggravated as it was by Miss Stiefbach's very unnecessary rebuke, had won for her the admiration of all the guests, most of whom were entire strangers to her.
After the close of the musicale, as pupils and guests were mingling together, and the room was noisy with animated conversation, Miss Christine went up to Marion, who was standing in a retired corner of the room talking to M. Béranger, and taking her hand said:—
"Marion, now that we are apparently unobserved I must tell you how sorry I was that Miss Stiefbach should have spoken so severely to you. I am sure she was not aware how unkind it seemed; she did not intend to hurt your feelings, and probably thought from your apparent calmness that you were really not at all nervous, and that dropping your music was nothing but carelessness and want of interest."
Marion made no reply, her lips seemed glued together, and Miss Christine continued:—
"I was surprised that Georgie should have played the Polonaise. I rarely speak of the faults of one girl to another, and perhaps I ought not now, but I must say, I did not think I had a scholar who would be so unkind as to choose a piece she knew one of her companions had chosen."
The rebuke intended for Georgie struck directly home to Marion. She had been struggling with herself ever since Miss Christine had stood there, knowing that she ought, before the evening was over, to tell her teacher the unworthy part she had acted; now every sense of honor and justice compelled her to do so. But directly beside her stood M. Béranger, and her pride rebelled at being again disgraced in his eyes, for his kindness and forbearance, ever since their first lesson, had won for him her sincere esteem and regard. The struggle was severe, but momentary, for raising her eyes to Miss Christine, she said:—
"It was a very contemptible thing, Miss Christine; nothing but an intense desire for revenge could have induced me to select a piece I knew Georgie had previously chosen."