Chapter 20

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:

"Who is the girl? what is her real name? Some say she is an American; others, that she is Olympia's own daughter, to whom all names are alike; but, then, where was the woman Olympia born? Now and then a word drops from the pretty lips which is purely American; but then she has been all over the world, and has gathered something from all nations, so that one can never make a true guess about her."

"Does this girl look like her?" inquired one of the young men, who had not been at the opera last night.

"No, not exactly," was the answer. "She is taller, more queenly, in fact; quite a different style. This new girl is superb."

"While Olympia is simply bewildering, changeable as the sky, erratic as a comet. We all understand Olympia."

The young man, who had kept silent till now, joined in the conversation, but his voice was constrained, and a little husky.

"Who is this woman, Olympia?"

The other young men laughed at the question.

"Who is Olympia? Why, the most bewitching, unprincipled, delightful bit of wickedness that has been thrown on the world for years. Don't tell us that you are to learn anything of Olympia at this time."

"I have heard of her, and seen her too, but only as a singer. What I ask is about her life, her principles, her character as a woman."

"And you ask that of us, my dear fellow? What nonsense! Have we not said that she is an actress?"

"Well, what then? An actress may be well-principled, honest, honorable, and modest, too, as any woman living. I asked if this woman, Olympia, the patroness, mother, or what you will, of this new singer, is one of these?"

"Don't ask any of us to endorse or condemn Olympia. We know that she gives the most delicious little suppers in the world, sings like a siren, smiles like an angel, and gets more and more fascinating as she grows older, as fruit ripens with age. No one ever thinks of asking her how old she is, or where she was born. It is enough that her beauty is in its summer, her voice perfect, and that she, who perhaps reigned over our fathers, holds us as her slaves. As for honor, dignity, principle, and all that, my dear fellow, who ever expects such things in a woman like our Olympia?"

"Yet she has had the training of this new singer."

"Training? Why it is said that the girl is really her own daughter."

"I heard you say as much," answered the young man, drily.

Then another voice broke in.

"You seem so much interested in these people, Hilton,--why not go and see for yourself? I will introduce you."

"When?"

"To-night. The Olympia has a little supper after the opera."

"But I thought the young lady was ill."

"Oh! that will make no difference. Olympia is a woman to enjoy herself, if Death sat next door. She will be certain to have her little supper. Will you go? Is it an engagement? If so, I will send her a note."

"Yes, I will go."

That night Olympia held high festival at her pretty house, which overlooked one of the loveliest parks in London. Among her guests was young Lord Hilton, the grandson of one of the proudest old earls in the kingdom.

Olympia was delighted at the presence of this man, who had never before been lured into her circle.

She had another reason for her satisfaction. The look which had disturbed her still preyed on her mind. She had a keen desire to learn how far it had relation to the young girl who lay ill up-stairs. In order, if possible, to inform herself, she selected the young man to sit next her at table, and artfully led the conversation to the night of Caroline's failure.

"You were present," she said, "that night. Was ever success more perfect, or failure more complete? It drove me wild!"

"I was present," said Hilton, very quietly, for he felt her eyes upon him with that slow, sidelong glance that has so much cunning in it, and this put him on his guard.

"She was coming out so magnificently," said Olympia, still vigilant, but with the white lids drooping over her eyes, "when, all of a sudden, her voice broke, and she fell. It must have been something in the audience."

"Perhaps," said the young man; "but what? I was looking at her all the time, and saw nothing. In fact, the house was very still. I have seldom seen a crowd so breathless."

Olympia turned one long glance on that face, and saw it was immovable in all the strong, but finely-cut features. Her suspicions grew weaker now, and she gave her attention more generally to the guests, who were becoming a little impatient of the exclusive attention paid to Lord Hilton; but the craft of this woman was as deep as her feelings were superficial. She could not quite throw off the idea that, in some way, this very person had been the cause of her defeat, and that his visit to her house that night would end in some effort to obtain an interview with the young creature who lay so ill up-stairs.

But she was mistaken. Hilton asked no questions, made no effort to draw her out, but drifted into the general conversation pleasantly enough, until the supper was near its close, and the wines had begun to do their work.

Then the entertainment swept into an orgie; tongues were loosened, eyes brightened and swam in moisture.

Snatches of bacchanalian songs broke from the laughing lips of Olympia.

She had been in a little awe of her new guest; but now her real nature broke out. Her wit sparkled like the champagne with which her red lips were continually moist; her eyes shone under the droop of those long white lids. She grew confidential with the young noble, and was easily led by the cool, versatile man, into conversation that she would have stubbornly avoided earlier in the evening. In one of her bold snatches of song she rounded off with a rollicking impromptu, which carried all the richness and force of her voice with it. This threw the whole company into a tumult of applause, but Hilton sat quietly and looked on, with a smile of supreme contempt quivering about his lips.

"Ha," said Olympia, filling his glass with her own hands, "you neither drink nor care for my singing. It is only the youth and beauty of my daughter that can move Lord Hilton."

Her daughter! The face of the young man turned white, and his lips closed sharply. He looked at the woman by his side, the flushed cheeks, the soft, slumbrous eyes, with absolute repulsion. He hated the very thought that the young creature he had found, like a bird, in that sweet Italian home, could belong in anything to a woman like that. Still, she had, in her reckless inadvertency, called her daughter, and though the very idea drove the blood to his heart, it was only by a cold pallor that the shock this one word had given to him was visible.

"Your daughter is very beautiful," he said, in a low voice.

"Did I call Caroline my daughter? Oh, well, it is no matter--the truth will out sometime, though I would rather wait till her success is assured. When she becomes famous, I shall glory in claiming her; but let me warn you, it is a secret as yet. You will understand. One does not care to own a girl as tall as that while the gloss is on one's hair. Nothing but the most wonderful success will induce me to acknowledge her before the world."

"But if she is your child--"

"I have said that she is my child; but it is a secret, and I did not mean to talk about it. Tell me, now, did you discover no likeness?"

"I did not observe."

"Still, they think her so beautiful."

Lord Hilton made no answer. The conversation had become irksome to him; but some person at the table took the last word from Olympia's lips and repeated it aloud.

"Beautiful! You must be speaking of our new prima donna. In my opinion she is perfect; but you, Lord Hilton, have only seen her from the stage--can form no idea of her loveliness, or of her voice either. There was nothing, the other night, that could compare with her singing at our little supper here. Besides, her beauty, to be appreciated, must be seen close. There is not a fault in her face or form, I can assure you."

Lord Hilton's face flushed angrily, then a slow whiteness crept over it again, and he bent his head, unable to speak. The task he had imposed on himself had become terribly painful.

Olympia was not particularly pleased with this high praise of another, though all her ambitious hopes lay in the success of the person on whom these encomiums were lavished. She began to shake up the sparkles in her wine by swaying the glass to and fro with her hand, and a sullen frown crept over her face.

"She is obstinate as a mule," she muttered; "tall and proud as Lucifer--not at all like me. But they will rave about her beauty, just as if she were more likely to live than to die."

"What did you say?" cried Lord Hilton, sharply; "die! die! Is there any danger? Is she so ill?"

Olympia lifted her sleepy eyelids and flashed a suspicious glance at him.

"Ah!" she exclaimed; "are you there! I thought so."

"You are not answering me," was the cold reply.

"You asked if there existed any danger, and I answer, yes. Did you think we were practicing stage effects in the journals? My poor Caroline is ill--very ill."

"And what made her ill?"

"What made her break down, after such glorious promise? Why, after she sang before my friends here, as fresh as a lark, and drove them all so wild that I, Olympia, was almost overlooked? There never were such expectations; but see how it ended--a total failure, and brain fever."

"Did you say brain fever?"

The young man scarcely spoke above a breath.

"Yes, it is on the brain, or the nerves, I am not quite sure which; but the doctors look terribly grave when I ask them about her, and speak as if she would die."

"Would to God she might die!" exclaimed the young man, trembling from head to foot with a burst of agitation that would not be suppressed longer.

"What--What?" exclaimed Olympia, starting back in affright. The glass fell from her hold, and a rivulet of amber-hued wine flashed along the snow of the table-cloth while she sat gazing upon the young lord.

"Excuse me; I was thinking of something else," he said, with a strong effort of self-control. "May I presume on your favor, and steal away, now? The rest will not miss me, I think."

Olympia nodded her head hastily. The spilled wine was dripping on her dress, so she started up, and Lord Hilton withdrew while she was shaking the drops from its silken folds, and creating general confusion by her laughing outcries.

Lord Hilton looked back as he crossed the passage, and shuddered at the picture of riotous luxury that supper-table presented.

"And she was among them, in a scene like that," he said, as the door closed after him.