The overture was applauded, but Madame Foa, instead of applauding, leaned gracefully back, smiling, and waved somebody to the seat beside her.

Violent demonstrations from the gallery!...  He was there, tripping down the stepped pathway between the drums.  The demonstrations grew general.  The orchestra applauded after its own fashion.  He reached the conductor, smiled at the conductor and bowed very admirably.  He seemed to be absolutely at his ease.  Then there was a delay.  The conductor’s scores had got themselves mixed up.  It was dreadful.  It was enough to make a woman shriek.

“I say!” said a voice in Audrey’s ear.  She turned as if shot.  Mr. Cowl’s round face was close to hers.  “I suppose you saw the New York Herald this morning.”

“No,” answered Audrey impatiently.

The orchestra started the Beethoven violin Concerto.  But Mr. Cowl kept his course.

“Didn’t you?” he said.  “About the Zacatecas Oil Corporation?  It’s under a receivership.  It’s gone smash.  I’ve had an idea for some time it would.  All due to these Mexican revolutions.  I thought you might like to know.”

Musa’s bow hung firmly over the strings.

CHAPTER XLII

INTERVAL

The most sinister feature of entertainments organised by Xavier was the intervals.  Xavier laid stress on intervals; they gave repose, and in many cases they saved money.  All Paris managers are inclined to give to the interval the importance of a star turn, and Xavier in this respect surpassed his rivals, though he perhaps regarded his cloak-rooms, which were organised to cause the largest possible amount of inconvenience to the largest possible number of people, as his surest financial buttress.  Xavier could or would never see the close resemblance of intervals to wet blankets, extinguishers, palls and hostile critics.  The Allegro movement of the Concerto was a real success, and the audience as a whole would have applauded even more if the gallery in particular had not applauded so much.  The second or Larghetto movement was also a success, but to a less degree.  As for the third and last movement, it put the gallery into an ecstasy while leaving the floor in possession of full critical faculties.  Musa retired and had to return, and when he returned the floor good-humouredly joined the vociferous gallery in laudations, and he had to return again.  Then the interminable interval.  Silence!  Murmurings!  Silence!  Creepings towards exits!  And in many, very many hearts the secret trouble question:  “Why are we here?  What have we come for?  What is all this pother about art and genius?  Honestly, shall we not be glad and relieved when the solemn old thing is over?"...  And the desolating, cynical indifference of the conductor and the orchestra!  Often there is a clearer vision of the truth during the intervals of a classical concert than on a deathbed.