The boards of the stage are marked with various lines in chalk, cabalistic signs of mysterious significance to Stella; in front of the prompter's box stands a prima donna with her bonnet-strings untied and her fur cloak hanging loosely about her shoulders, singing in an undertone a duet with a tenor in a tall silk hat who is kneeling at her feet; at the piano, just below, sits the leader of the orchestra, a little Italian, with long, straight, white hair, and dark eyebrows that protrude for at least an inch over his fierce black eyes, pounding away at the accompaniment, evidently more to accentuate the rhythm than with any desire to accompany harmoniously the duet of the pair.
"The rehearsal will be over immediately," Morinski assures the two ladies.
In fact, the duo between the prima donna and the tenor shortly comes to an end. A short discussion ensues, during which the prima donna alternately scolds the leader, whom she accuses of paying no attention to the ritardandos, and the tenor for his "lamentable want of all passion."
Morinski throws himself metaphorically between the disputants and kisses the prima donna's hand. Without paying him much attention, she scans Stella from head to foot, says, with an ironical depression of the corners of her mouth, "Ah! a new star, Morinski!" and withdraws, with an intensely theatrical stride, her loose fur dolman trailing behind her.
"Hm! a new star, Morinski!" the leader repeats also ironically, stuffing an immense pinch of snuff the while into his nose.
"Let us hope so," Morinski replies, with reproving courtesy.
"Is the signorina to sing us something? It is twelve o'clock, Morinski; I am hungry. If it must be, let us be quick. What shall I accompany for you, mademoiselle?"
"Ah fors' è lui che l'anima!" Stella says, in a shy whisper, "from----"
"I know, I know,--from Traviata," the leader replies. "You sing it in the original key?"
"Yes."