the distance a chateau; on the left a bower, and on the right a
pavilion. Before the footlights, a famous contralto, dressed as a
boy, was bowing to the audience, her arms full of flowers.

"Too bad," whispered Corthell to Laura, as they followed the others
down the side-aisle to the box. "Too bad, this is the second act
already; you've missed the whole first act--and this song. She'll
sing it over again, though, just for you, if I have to lead the
applause myself. I particularly wanted you to hear that."

Once in the box, the party found itself a little crowded, and Jadwin
and Cressler were obliged to stand, in order to see the stage.
Although they all spoke in whispers, their arrival was the signal
for certain murmurs of "Sh! Sh!" Mrs. Cressler made Laura occupy the
front seat. Jadwin took her cloak from her, and she settled herself
in her chair and looked about her. She could see but little of the
house or audience. All the lights were lowered; only through the
gloom the swaying of a multitude of fans, pale coloured, like
night-moths balancing in the twilight, defined itself.

But soon she turned towards the stage. The applause died away, and
the contralto once more sang the aria. The melody was simple, the
tempo easily followed; it was not a very high order of music. But to
Laura it was nothing short of a revelation.

She sat spell-bound, her hands clasped tight, her every faculty of
attention at its highest pitch. It was wonderful, such music as
that; wonderful, such a voice; wonderful, such orchestration;
wonderful, such exaltation inspired by mere beauty of sound. Never,
never was this night to be forgotten, this her first night of Grand