She shuddered, and for an instant her voice failed her.

The audience were breathless.

Her look, her attitude, her silence, her tremor, all seemed inimitable acting.

A glance at the foot-lights and at the orchestra recalled the recollection of where she was, and by a strong effort she controlled herself; though there was still an agitation in her voice, which the audience and the singers thought to be the perfection of acting.

Again she glanced at Fitzgerald, and there was terrible power in the tones with which she uttered, in Italian, "Tremble, perfidious one! Thou knowest the cause is ample." 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.