“In the old Blackmoore?”
“Yes. And we failed.”
“Dear child.” The prima donna threw an arm about her waist. “All will be different this time.
“But look! While we have been talking, twilight, a stage twilight, has fallen upon us. You did not know, it came so gradually. Such is the magic of modern science.
“It is, however, only one of those Arctic summer nights, lasting a few brief moments. Watch, and you will see that already we are looking upon the first faint flush of dawn.”
Together, hand in hand, they watched the coming of day as it stole across the mountainside. Only when day had fully come did the spell of enchantment break.
“Grand Opera,” said the prima donna, with some show of feeling, “will live forever because it combines the most beautiful of everything we see with the most melodious of all we hear.
“That,” she added, “is why I cling to Grand Opera. Friends tell me over and over: ‘You might become the greatest actress of your age.’ But no, I will not. Grand Opera is the greatest of all!
“But come!” she exclaimed. “We must go. There is work to be done.”
As they walked down the operaland mountain in silence, it seemed to the little French girl that she had been on the Mount of Transfiguration.