Belle sat down and laughed again, and this time Selene joined in.
"Tell me, dear, how and when he persuaded you," inquired Belle. Selene grew snappish. "Oh, you read the papers. We were married last month with Val as witness; then some fool got hold of the story; it was printed. Sig came home after the opera and told me that he was ruined because he had expected a fortune from Mrs. Madison—you know the old bleached blonde who sits in the first tier box at the opera—and, of course, I smelt another affair. I scolded him and sent for Val. Well, Val was a perfect fool on the subject of Sig, and when he heard of the gambling debts he said a lawyer might straighten the affair out. That night Sig began drinking absinthe and brandy, and in the morning James, the butler, found him dead. If the papers hadn't got hold of your story, the thing could have been nicely settled. As it is we are simply ridiculous, and the worst of all is that the management and the stockholders insist on a public funeral and speeches; Sig was such a favorite. Think! he was the first great American Wagner singer; and so here are we, a pair of fools in love with the same man"—"Excuse me, Selene, I never loved him. He forced me to marry him." "And my own brother, Belle, with his nonsensical Wagner worship, drove me to marry a man I had only met twice." Selene sighed.
"We were fools," they said in chorus, as Val entered, his eyes red from weeping. "You silly, silly boy, Sig never cared a rap for any one on earth but himself. Look at us and follow our example in grieving," and the widows laughed almost hysterically....
III
As early as seven o'clock there was a small crowd in front of the Marsoc residence, from which was to be buried the famous tenor, Siegfried Brazier. His death, his many romances, his marriages, his debts and his stalwart personality canalized public curiosity, and after the doors had been thrown open a constantly growing stream of men, women, children, and again women, women, women, flowed into the house through the hall, into the big reception-room, past the modest coffin with its twin bouquets of violets, out of the side door and into the street again. The fact that at midday there were to be imposing public obsequies, did not check the desire of the morbid-minded to view the corpse in a more intimate fashion. No members of the family were downstairs; but over the broad balustrade hung two veiled women, their eyes burning with curiosity. As the tide of humanity swept by Belle felt her arm pinched:
"There, there! the old woman in a crape veil. That's mother Madison. She'll have to alter her will now. Perhaps she's done it already. She was in love with Sig. Yes, that old thing." Selene gave a husky titter. "And she's sneaking in to see the poor boy and thinks no one will recognize her. I'd like to call out her name." Belle clapped her hand over Selene's mouth.
"Look, now," said the latter, releasing herself; "look at those chorus girls. What cheek! All with violets, because it was his favorite flower. What a man; what a man!" ...
Belle's companion leaned heavily on her, and Val came up and persuaded his sister to go to the front room. His eyes were hollow and his voice broke as he whispered to Belle that they might be seen. Besides, it was nearly time—he went downstairs....
From the latticed window the two women watched. First, the police cleared the way; the ragamuffins were driven into the street. Then the fat undertaker appeared with Val and stood on the curb as the coffin, an oak affair with silver handles and plate, was carried to the hearse. Val and the undertaker got into a solitary carriage, and amidst much gabbling and wondering gossip were driven off. It was a plain, very plain, funeral, every one said, and without a note of music. As the crowd dribbled away, Selene recognized two of the prima donnas and the first contralto of the opera, and she nudged Belle in a sardonic manner.
"More of them, Belle, more of them. We ought to feel flattered," then both women burst into hysterical sobbing and embraced desperately. They read in each other's eyes a mutual desire.