Part 3 (1/2)
”I shall go alone, then.”
”All right.” In his dull way he had learned that to pull the diva, one must agree with her. In agreeing with her one adroitly dissuaded her. ”You go to Capri, and I'll go to the pavilion on the Neva.”
She snuffed the cigarette in the coffee-cup and frowned. ”Some day you will make me horribly angry.”
”Beautiful tigress! If a man knew what you wanted, you would not want it.
I can't hop about with the agility of those dancers at the Theatre du Palais Royale. The best I can do is to imitate the bear. What is wrong?”
”They keep giving her the premier parts. She has no more fire in her than a dead grate. The English-speaking singers, they are having everything their own way. And none of them can act.”
”My dear Flora, this Eleonora is an actress, first of all. That she can sing is a matter of good fortune, no more. Be reasonable. The consensus of critical opinion is generally infallible; and all over the continent they agree that she can act. Come, come; what do you care? She will never approach your Carmen....”
”You praise her to me?” tempest in her glowing eyes.
”I do not praise her. I am quoting facts. If you throw that cup, my tigress....”
”Well?” dangerously.
”It will spoil the set. Listen. Some one is at the speaking-tube.”
The singer crossed the room impatiently. Ordinarily she would have continued the dispute, whether the bell rang or not. But she was getting the worst of the argument and the bell was a timely diversion. The duke followed her leisurely to the wall.
”What is it?” asked Flora in French.
The voice below answered with a query in English. ”Is this the Signorina Desimone?”
”It is the d.u.c.h.ess.”
”The d.u.c.h.ess?”
”Yes.”
”The devil!”
She turned and stared at the duke, who shrugged. ”No, no,” she said; ”the d.u.c.h.ess, not the devil.”
”Pardon me; I was astonished. But on the stage you are still Flora Desimone?”
”Yes. And now that my ident.i.ty is established, who are you and what do you want at this time of night?”
The duke touched her arm to convey that this was not the moment in which to betray her temper.
”I am Edward Courtlandt.”
”The devil!” mimicked the diva.
She and the duke heard a chuckle.
”I beg your pardon again, Madame.”