Goutran went forward to receive his new guests. A murmur of admiration greeted the lady—Jane Zeld, the cantatrice.
She was tall and slender, and dressed in black tulle with crimson roses. She advanced with a smile on her lips. She was young, not more than twenty-two, with dark hair raised over her brow like a diadem and falling at the back of her head in loose braids. Her complexion was clear but pale, her eyes were almond-shaped with long lashes and had a singular fixity of expression.
Who was she? No one knew. She had appeared on the stage of public life in a singular way. There had been a fire about two months before at one of the theatres, and a musical evening had been organized for the benefit of the victims.
Society, which likes amusements and is willing to be benevolent at the same time, had responded to the appeal, and on the evening of the performance the hall was crowded. The principal attraction was the return to public life of a tenor, who had had a fit of the sulks and had deserted the stage. He had promised to sing with the Diva a celebrated duet. When the audience had assembled a message arrived at the theatre. The Diva was ill, or pretended to be so, and now, at the last moment, announced that it was impossible to appear.
This was terrible. The tenor was implored to sing alone, but he positively refused, and the non-appearance of the two stars made the affair an utter fiasco. Artists and journalists, director and secretaries assembled in the foyer—all talked together in their excitement. The tenor, half lying on a couch, caressed his black beard, while he listened with nonchalance to the entreaties addressed to him. But the moment was rapidly approaching when the fatal announcement must be made to the audience.
Presently a voice began to sing the jewel song from Faust. The singer was at the piano in the foyer, but was so enveloped in black lace that she could hardly be seen. Her voice was so good, her method so perfect, that every one listened in delight. Even the tenor, for he was a thorough musician, was completely carried away.
The lady finished the song, then rising from her seat she stood leaning against the piano without the smallest embarrassment.
The tenor went forward. "Madame," he said, "do you know the duet we were about to sing?"
The singer reseated herself at the piano and playing a prelude, sang two or three bars with exquisite expression.
"Madame," began the tenor.