Part 46 (2/2)
”Of what are you thinking, that it brings a shadow on that dear face of yours?” said Lady Lanswell, kindly.
Lady Chandos turned to her, and in a low tone of voice said:
”Has Lance any very old or intimate friends in London?”
”No; none that I know of. He knows a great many people, of course, and some very intimately, but I am not aware of any especial friends.h.i.+p. Why do you ask me?”
”I fancied he had; he is so much more from home than he used to be, and does not say where he goes.”
”My dear Marion,” said the countess, kindly, ”Lance has many occupations and many cares; he cannot possibly tell you every detail of how and where he pa.s.ses the time. Let me give you a little warning; never give way to any little suspicions of your husband; that is always the beginning of domestic misery; trust him all in all. Lance is loyal and true to you; do not tease him with suspicions and little jealousies.”
”I am not jealous,” said Lady Chandos, ”but it seems to me only natural that I should like to know where my husband pa.s.ses his time.”
The older and wiser woman thought to herself, with a sigh, that it might be quite as well that she should not know.
CHAPTER XLIII.
”DEATH ENDS EVERYTHING.”
Madame Vanira became one of the greatest features of the day. Her beauty and her singing made her the wonder of the world. Royalty delighted to honor her. One evening after she had entranced a whole audience, keeping them hanging, as it were, on every silvery note that came from her lovely lips--people were almost wild over her--they had called her until they were tired. Popular enthusiasm had never been so aroused. And then the greatest honor ever paid to any singer was paid to her. Royal lips praised her and the highest personage in the land presented her with a diamond bracelet, worthy of the donor and the recipient. Her triumph was at its height; that night the opera in which she played was the ”Crown Diamonds.” Her singing had been perfection, her acting magnificent; she bad electrified the audience as no other _artiste_ living could have done; her pa.s.sion, her power, her genius had carried them with her. When she quitted the stage it was as though they woke from a long trance of delight.
That evening crowned her ”Queen of Song.” No one who saw her ever forgot her. The next morning the papers raved about her; they prophesied a new era for music and for the stage; it was, perhaps, the most triumphant night of her great career. She had the gift which makes an actress or a singer; she could impress her individuality on people; she made a mark on the hearts and minds of those who saw her that was never effaced; her gestures, her face, her figure, her magnificent att.i.tudes stood out vivid and clear, while they lived distinct from any others.
”Where royalty smiles, other people laugh,” says the old proverb. No sooner was it known that the warmest praise kindly and royal lips could give had been given to Madame Vanira than she became at once the darling of the world of fas.h.i.+on.
Invitations poured in upon her, the most princely mansions in London were thrown open to her; the _creme de la creme_ of the _elite_ sought her eagerly; there was nothing like her; her beauty and her genius inthralled every one. The time came when she was the most popular and the most eagerly sought after woman in London, yet she cared little for society; her art was the one thing she lived for, and her friends.h.i.+p with Lord Chandos. One day she said to him:
”I have never seen Lady Marion. What is she like?”
He noticed then and afterward that she never spoke of the queen of blondes as Lady Chandos, or as ”your wife,” but always as Lady Marion.
This was a beautiful morning in May, and there, sitting under the great cedar-tree on the lawn, all the sweet-smelling wind wafting luscious odors from jasmine and honeysuckle, the brilliant sun s.h.i.+ning down on them, he had been reading to her the notes of a speech by which he hoped to do wonders; she had suggested some alterations, and, as he found, improvements; then she sat silently musing. After some time she startled him with the question:
”What is Lady Marion like?”
”Did you not see her,” he replied, ”on the first evening we were at the opera? She was by my side, and you saw me. Nay, I remember that she told me you were looking at her, and that your eyes magnetized hers.”
”I remember the evening,” said Leone sadly, ”but I do not remember seeing my lady. I--I saw nothing but you. Tell me what she is like. Is she very beautiful?” she asked, and the tone of her voice was very wistful.
”Yes; she is very fine and queenly,” he replied; ”she is very quiet, gentle, and amiable. Would you like to see her, Leone?”
A sudden flame of pa.s.sion flashed in those dark eyes, and then died away.
”Yes, I should like just once to see her. She is very clever, is she not?”
<script>