The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 29

"What was the matter with you? I have had no chance to ask, with your countesses and d.u.c.h.esses swarming about, as if you had some acquaintances that your own mother could not reach! What came over you?

I will know!"

"I was faint and frightened," said Caroline, in a low voice. "The whole thing broke me down."

"But there was something else. I will know it!"

Caroline was silent.

"Will you speak, miss?"

"I have nothing more to say. You could see how ill I was."

"But not the cause; it is that I wish to understand."

Caroline sat down on the side of her bed and remained silent, with her eyes on the floor. She had no answer to give.

"Will you tell the truth, or must I search it out? I was watching you; I saw your eyes and the man whose glance struck you down."

Caroline gave a start, and covered her face with both hands.

"What have you in common with young Lord Hilton?"

The hands dropped from that burning face, and two great, dilating eyes, in which the tears stood, were turned on the angry woman.

"Young Lord Hilton! I do not know him."

The words came faintly from the girl's lips--she was bewildered.

"Why did he drop his gla.s.s and bend over the box with that look in his face, then? Why did you start and trample back on your train? Why did you give him that piteous glance just as your eyes closed? The audience might not have seen it, but I did, I did."

"I--I do not understand," faltered the girl.

"Do not understand, miss!"

"How should I, not knowing the person you speak of?"

"Don't lie to me, girl! I am an old bird, and have had my own flights too often not to understand a look when I see it. You have met that man before--I don't know where or how, but you have."

"You speak of a person I never saw or heard of," answered the girl, trembling with inward doubt; "how can I tell you anything about him?"

Olympia almost believed her, and, for once, her acute penetration was baffled; but a doubt remained, and she turned to Eliza.

"If you know anything about this, tell me now; it will be better for her and for you."

"I haven't anything to tell, Mrs. Olympia; not a thing!"

"Was any one admitted to the house near Florence?"

"Yes, ma'am, there was."

"Well, a young gentleman?"

"Yes; one young un, and another, older."

"Who were they?"

"The man who taught her how to speak Italian and the music fellow."

"Only those two?"

"Not another soul came or went while we stayed in that house."

"And she conversed with no one on the way?"

"Not a soul."

Olympia turned to go out. She was not convinced; having no truth in herself she found no power of faith in others; but, for the time, the blunt honesty of the servant and proud sincerity of the girl silenced her, and she went out, muttering:

"I shall get at the bottom of it yet."

Then Caroline turned to Eliza:

"Can it be? I saw no other."

"I haven't a doubt of it," said Eliza. "I always mistrusted him for an Englishman."

CHAPTER XX.

LORD HILTON TAKES SUPPER WITH OLYMPIA.

She had fallen ill. The prima donna of a single hour was lying in Olympia's bijou of a house, struggling with a nervous fever. The whole town had been made aware of the mournful fact; for the manager had spread the news broadcast through the journals, thus displacing disappointment with such overwhelming sympathy as the distress of beauty and genius is sure to excite. For more than a week, now, the prevailing topic had been this young girl; first the promise of a brilliant debut, then the momentary triumph and sudden breakdown; now came the news of her illness, true, in so much that she was seriously ill, but exaggerated into a romance which gave her out as dying with a shock of a too sensitive nature.

Olympia sang gloriously to crowded houses. In the romance woven around this young girl her parentage had been hinted at, and the practiced woman of the stage had managed to turn the public rumor into popularity for herself.

She had taken up the opera where Caroline had sunk down, and carried it triumphantly forward, filling the world with admiration of herself and sympathy for the girl.

On the morning when Caroline's illness was made public, some young men were seated in the window of a club-house, and one of them threw down the Times with an impatient movement.

"So we are not to have this new singer again to-morrow night or the next," he said. "Here is Olympia's name in the bills, while the other is ill with something on the brain or nerves."

"All a sham, to enhance the public interest, I dare say," answered another, taking up the journal. "There is nothing these musical people will not do for popularity. But it really was not needed here; the girl has beauty enough to carry her forward, even without her glorious voice.

For my part, I am all in a fever to see her again."

A young man sat in this circle, apparently occupied by the panorama drifting through the streets. As the conversation went on, the color came and went in his face, and his eyes began to burn; but he said nothing, while the others went on: