"I have never heard a tenor of more promise, never in my life; and consider how much that implies, ma'm'selle! You probably know who I am?"
Miss Elisabetha bowed, and inhaled salts from her smelling-bottle, her little finger elegantly separated from the others.
"You do not mean to say that you have never heard of Kernadi--Cécile Kernadi?" said the diva, sitting fairly erect now in her astonishment.
"Never," replied the maiden, not without a proud satisfaction in the plain truth of her statement.
The singer gazed at the figure before her in its ancient dress, and gradually a smile broke over her beautiful face.
"Ma'm'selle," she said, dismissing herself and her fame with a wave of her white hand, "you have a treasure in Doro, a voice rare in a century; and, in the name of the world, I ask you for him."
Miss Elisabetha sat speechless; she was never quick with words, and now she was struck dumb.
"I will take him with me when I go in a few days," pursued Kernadi; "and I promise you he shall have the very best instructors. His method now is bad--insufferably bad. The poor boy has had, of course, no opportunities; but he is still young, and can unlearn as well as learn. Give him to me. I will relieve you of all expenses, so sure do I feel that he will do me credit in the end. I will even pass my word that he shall appear with me upon either the London or the Vienna stage before two years are out."
Miss Elisabetha had found her words at last.
"Madame," she said, "do you wish to make an opera-singer of the son of Petrus Oesterand?"
"I wish to make an opera-singer of this pretty Doro; and, if this good Petrus is his father, he will, no doubt, give his consent."
"So much the better; he will not interfere with our plans, then," replied the diva, gayly.
Miss Elisabetha rose; her tall form shook perceptibly.
"I have the honor to bid you good day," she said, courtesying formally.
The woman on the sofa sprang to her feet.
"You are offended?" she asked; "and why?"
"That you, a person of no name, of no antecedents, a public singer, should presume to ask for my boy, an Oesterand--should dare to speak of degrading him to your level!"
Kernadi listened to these words in profound astonishment. Princes had bowed at her feet, blood-royal had watched for her smile. Who was this ancient creature, with her scarf and bag? Perhaps, poor thing! she did not comprehend! The diva was not bad-hearted, and so, gently enough, she went over her offer a second time, dwelling upon and explaining its advantages. "That he will succeed, I do not doubt," she said; "but in any case he shall not want."