The Goodness of St. Rocque, and Other Stories
curtain fell on the first act. The house was won by the new tenor; it called and recalled him before the curtain. Clearly he had sung his way into the hearts of his audience at once. 

 "Papa, Aunt Nina," said Annette, "you must come behind the scenes with me. I want you to meet him. He is delightful. You must come." 

 Philip was bending ostentatiously over the girl in the next box. Papa and Aunt Nina consented to be dragged behind the scenes. Annette was well known, for, in hopes of some day being an occupant of one of the dressing-rooms, she had made friends with everyone connected with the opera. 

 Eleazar received them, still wearing his brown garb and patriarchal beard. 

 "How you deceived me!" she laughed, when the greetings and introductions were over. 

 "I came to America early," he smiled back at her, "and thought I'd try a little incognito at the Pass. I was not well, you see. It has been of great benefit to me." 

 "I kept my promise," she said in a lower tone. 

 "Thank you; that also has helped me." 

 Annette's teacher began to note a wonderful improvement in his pupil's voice. Never did a girl study so hard or practise so faithfully. It was truly wonderful. Now and then Annette would say to papa as if to reassure herself,— 

 "And when Monsieur Cherbart says I am ready to go to Paris, I may go, papa?" 

 And papa would say a "Certainly" that would send her back to the piano with renewed ardour. 

 As for Monsieur LeConte, he was the idol of New Orleans.  Seldom had there been a tenor who had sung himself so completely into the very hearts of a populace. When he was billed, the opera displayed "Standing Room" signs, no matter what the other attractions in the city might be. Sometimes Monsieur LeConte delighted small audiences in Annette's parlour, when the hostess was in a perfect flutter of happiness. Not often, you know, for the leading tenor was in great demand at the homes of society queens. 

 "Do you know," said Annette, petulantly, one evening, "I wish for the old days at Pass Christian." 

 "So do I," he answered tenderly; "will you repeat 
 Prev. P 19/65 next 
Back Top
Privacy Statement Terms of Service Contact