The elder woman smiled, and replied in her calm, quiet accents, directing her gaze at the young Italian.
"I told you, Signor, that the name of Salmoros was one to conjure with in Russia."
Nello was about to reply, when the young Princess put her finger to her lips. A sudden hush had spread over the a.s.sembly. A beautiful young Spanish woman had just ascended the small platform--a young woman known by the affectionate nickname of La Belle Quero.
She sang the well-known song from _Lucrezia Borgia_, "Il Segreto per esse felice," in her deep, resonant, contralto tones. She sang it with a vigour and abandon which placed beyond question the fact that she was a superb artist, as well as a beautiful woman.
When she had finished, there was tremendous applause. An encore was insisted on and granted by the obliging _prima donna_. The Count Golitzine himself led the great singer from the platform to a seat.
His keen eye had already observed Corsini in attendance on the Zouroffs. He beckoned to the young man, who made a hasty apology to the Princess and her daughter.
"I have the pleasure of presenting one great artist to another," said the Count in his suavest tones. "Signor Corsini, who will presently enchant us on the violin, to Madame Quero, who has already captivated us with her liquid notes. You have no doubt already heard, Madame, that next week Signor Corsini takes over the post of Director of the Imperial Opera."
Madame Quero--she had a husband knocking about somewhere in Spain, who never came into her calculations or scheme of existence--flashed at the handsome young Italian a very charming and provocative smile.
"We shall have to work together very soon, shall we not, Signor? I am afraid you will find me a somewhat difficult person. It is just as well we should meet first on neutral ground. Perhaps when we do quarrel, we may be disposed to forgive each other the more readily for that fact."
Nello was becoming quite a man of the world in this rarefied atmosphere into which he had been so suddenly projected. He replied to the raillery of the beautiful singer in becoming language. She swept an approving glance over him.
"I think we shall soon be very good friends," she said in a gracious voice. "Our present Director is a bit of a bully, and I believe hates women." She shrugged her shapely shoulders. "Well, he is ancient and cantankerous. You are young; I am sure you do not hate women, just because they are the inferior s.e.x."
The smile that accompanied the words became more seductive. Corsini was a little put to it to preserve his equilibrium. He had been welcomed cordially by a Princess and her charming daughter. Here was a celebrated _prima donna_ of great beauty, openly declaring that she was ready to flirt with him--ready to be made love to, if he were disposed that way.
He paid her some gallant compliments, of the kind that come readily to the lips of members of the Latin races; but, as he did so, his glance stole unconsciously to the lovely young Princess, and involuntarily there came into his eyes a light that was noted by the observant Spanish woman.
"You admire the Princess Nada Zouroff immensely. Is it not so? You have a good excuse; she is certainly very beautiful. An exquisite bud rather than a full-grown rose, eh, my friend?"
"Perhaps, Madame," replied the diplomatic Italian. "But all flowers are beautiful, whether in bud or full blossom."
"For myself, were I a man, I should not be very greatly attracted by immaturity. We are using flowers in the form of an allegory. Of course we are really speaking of women." She threw at him one of her most dazzling smiles. There was nothing immature, nothing of the ripening bud about the opulent beauty of La Belle Quero.
Corsini, seeing what was expected of him, returned that alluring smile with a glance of respectful admiration. He had already gathered that she was a popular idol, and wielded great influence in the musical world.
Personally, he preferred the simpler and more modest loveliness of the charming young Princess. But it was politic to win the good opinion of such an influential personage, and she was evidently not the sort of woman to tolerate rivalry.
For the next five minutes he made himself as agreeable as possible, and the handsome singer was obviously impressed. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the conductor of the concert, who intimated to Corsini that his would be the next turn.
Madame Quero rose. "I must not keep you. Well, I hope we shall be very great friends. I shall stay to hear your solo and then I shall leave.
I feel just a little fatigued to-night; not quite in the mood for this sort of scene, gay and brilliant as it is."
With a gracious inclination of her handsome head, she walked with her graceful, swimming gait to the entrance of the big saloon. Arrived at the doors she waited till Corsini was on the platform and listened attentively to his performance. There was great applause when he had finished, and she clapped her hands enthusiastically. The artist in her responded to the artist in him. It would not be true to say that she had not heard greater masters, but there was a subtle quality in his playing that revealed true genius. He always excelled in the appealing and sentimental pa.s.sages.
But while she was listening, to all appearances with the closest attention, her glance was ever roaming through the open doors, down the grand staircase. It was evident that she was looking for somebody, and restless and disappointed because of his non-arrival.
And then, just as she was preparing to leave, a sudden light came into her beautiful eyes. The tall soldierly figure of Zouroff was ascending the stairs.
Her smile was just a little cold, her tones reproachful.
"I was just going; you promised to be here in time to hear me sing.
Why are you so late?"
The Prince drew her a little out of earshot. He spoke with his usual ease and a.s.surance. He admired the beautiful singer more than any woman of his acquaintance, but he never spoiled any member of the gentler s.e.x with too great a display of politeness or solicitude.
"Is it so very difficult to guess? There are certain things that must always come first in a man"s life."
"Spare me that ancient plat.i.tude. You have indulged in it so often."
Her voice was restrained and low, but there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Zouroff appealed in many ways to her pa.s.sionate but rather hard nature, but there were times when his indifference, his brutal frankness, cut her to the quick.
But the Prince was not a man to pay more than pa.s.sing heed to the symptoms of a woman"s gathering displeasure. By nature he was a savage. To a certain extent he was susceptible to female beauty and fascination, but deep down in his heart he had a profound contempt for women, for their uncontrolled feelings, their little tricks of sentiment, their abject subservience to their emotions.
"Things go well," he said, in his hard, level tones. "I trust we shall not have to wait very long now. We held a very important meeting to-night; it was prolonged beyond the hour I expected. That is why I am late and could not get here in time to hear you sing."
The beautiful singer seemed but half appeased by this rather curt apology. It confirmed what he had told her so often before, that overwhelming ambition, the advancement of his political schemes, were all powerful influences in his life; that a woman"s devoted affection weighed but as a feather in the scale against these.
"Let us talk of other things," she said, speaking in a tone of a.s.sumed lightness.
"But I thought you took a great interest in these matters. At any rate you have pretended to." His voice was hard and rasping, and there was a sneer in it, an angry gleam in his eyes. He could not bear to be crossed.
"At the proper time and place. But I don"t choose to talk of just one subject every moment we spend together. I am pleased, my friend, that the prospects are so good. And now, for a few seconds, shall we talk of those other things which are not quite so unimportant to the world in general as they appear to you."
"And those other things?" inquired Zouroff in his surliest and most repellant manner.
"Well, for example, we have just been listening to our new Director of the Opera, Signor Corsini. He has played some very beautiful things; he is a fine artist. Have you met him yet?"
Zouroff frowned heavily. "Yes, I have. The fellow played once at the Emba.s.sy in London, and my mother and sister raved about him. You know I am no judge of instrumental music--rather dislike it than otherwise.
And this young man seemed to me particularly objectionable."
"I wonder why?" inquired the _prima donna_ with a most innocent expression. "Just because your mother and sister admired his genius?
What a very insufficient reason."
Zouroff vouchsafed no reply to this delicate raillery, and Madame Quero continued in the same detached, indifferent tones. "The Count introduced him to me; we had a long chat together. I think he is a most charming young man, quite unaffected, with delightful manners and very handsome. I predict he will be excessively popular."
"I wonder if you realise how much you are annoying me when you talk in this manner?" asked the Prince roughly.
La Belle Quero held out her hand. "My friend, it seems to me you are in rather a savage mood to-night, and I am not in the best of tempers myself. If we talk much longer we may have a serious quarrel. I will say good-night."
"Good-night," said the Prince in a low and harsh voice. "Perhaps it is as well we should separate. There are a lot of people here I must speak to."
Madame Quero turned towards the staircase. He strode after her and laid his big, strong hand none too gently on her arm.
"And please listen once and for all to me. If it pleases you to amuse yourself with this young Corsini, or for the matter of that with any other effeminate foreigner, you need fear no interference from me.
Understand that."
Tears of rage came into the beautiful eyes. "Take your hand away, you savage, you are hurting me. As for what you have just said in your usual brutal manner, I perfectly grasp your meaning. And please also to understand this from me. If I choose to turn my fancy in that or any other direction, I shall not trouble to consult you, much less beg for your permission."
With a muttered curse Zouroff released her arm, whose delicate flesh he had bruised, turned on his heel and re-entered the concert saloon.
And next morning, Golitzine, whose sharp eyes had noted the pleasant talk between Corsini and the beautiful singer, also the way in which Zouroff had flung away from her as she descended the grand staircase, was able to report to his Imperial Master that the first act in the little comedy had opened well.