Her eyes rested for a moment on Mrs. Fitzgerald, and with a wonderful depth of pitying sadness, she sang, “O, how his art deceived thee!”

The wish she had formed was realized.  She was enabled to give voice to her own emotions, forgetful of the audience for the time being.  And even in subsequent scenes, when the recollection of being a performer returned upon her, her inward excitation seemed to float her onward, like a great wave.

Once again her own feelings took her up, like a tornado, and made her seem a wonderful actress.  In the scene where Norma is tempted to kill her children, she fixed her indignant gaze full upon Fitzgerald, and there was an indescribable expression of stern resolution in her voice, and of pride in the carriage of her queenly head, while she sang:  “Disgrace worse than death awaits them.  Slavery?  No! never!”

Fitzgerald quailed before it.  He grew pale, and slunk back in the box.  The audience had never seen the part so conceived, and a few criticised it.  But her beauty and her voice and her overflowing feeling carried all before her; and this, also, was accepted as a remarkable inspiration of theatrical genius.

When the wave of her own excitement was subsiding, the magnetism of an admiring audience began to affect her strongly.  With an outburst of fury, she sang, “War!  War!” The audience cried, “Bis!  Bis!” and she sang it as powerfully the second time.

What it was that had sustained and carried her through that terrible ordeal, she could never understand.

When the curtain dropped, Fitzgerald was about to rush after her; but his wife caught his arm, and he was obliged to follow.  It was an awful penance he underwent, submitting to this necessary restraint; and while his soul was seething like a boiling caldron, he was obliged to answer evasively to Lily’s frequent declaration that the superb voice of this Spanish prima donna was exactly like the wonderful voice that went wandering round the plantation, like a restless ghost.

Papa and Mamma Balbino were waiting to receive the triumphant cantatrice, as she left the stage. “Brava!  Brava!” shouted the Signor, in a great fever of excitement; but seeing how pale she looked, he pressed her hand in silence, while Madame wrapped her in shawls.  They lifted her into the carriage as quickly as possible, where her head drooped almost fainting on Madame’s shoulder.  It required them both to support her unsteady steps, as they mounted the stairs to their lofty lodging.  She told them nothing that night of having seen Fitzgerald; and, refusing all refreshment save a sip of wine, she sank on the bed utterly exhausted.

CHAPTER XX.

She slept late the next day, and woke with a feeling of utter weariness of body and prostration of spirit.  When her dressing-maid Giovanna came at her summons, she informed her that a gentleman had twice called to see her, but left no name or card.  “Let no one be admitted to-day but the manager of the opera,” said Rosa.  “I will dress now; and if Mamma Balbino is at leisure, I should like to have her come and talk with me while I breakfast.”