You sense that, do
you?"
No reply. Melody shivered a little, then drew herself together and was
still,--the stillest figure that ever breathed and lived. Anderson
clenched his hands and fairly trembled with rage and with the effort
to conceal it. He must not frighten the child too much. He could not
punish her, hurt her in any way; for any shock might injure the
precious voice which was to make his fortune. He was no fool, this
man. He had some knowledge, more ambition. He had been unsuccessful on
the whole, had been disappointed in several ventures; now he had found
a treasure, a veritable gold-mine, and-he could not work it! Could
anything be more exasperating? This child, whose voice could rouse a
whole city--a city! could rouse the world to rapture, absolutely
refused to sing a note! He had tried cajolery, pathos, threats; he had
called together a chosen company of critics to hear the future
Catalani, and had been forced to send them home empty, having heard no
note of the marvellous voice! The child would not sing, she would not
even speak, save in the briefest possible fashion, little beyond "yes"
and "no."
What was a poor impresario to do? He longed to grasp her by the
shoulders and shake the voice out of her; his hands fairly itched to
get hold of the obstinate little piece of humanity, who, in her
childishness, her helplessness, her blindness, thus defied him, and
set all his cherished plans at nought.
Pages:
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107