Madame Midas. Hume Fergus

Kitty commenced to sing to Madame’s accompaniment. Gaston arose to his feet, and leaned up against the door, for she was singing Gounod’s charming valse from ‘Mirella’, the bird-like melody of which suited her high clear voice to perfection. Vandeloup was rather astonished at hearing this innocent little maiden execute the difficult valse with such ease, and her shake was as rapid and true as if she had been trained in the best schools of Europe. He did not know that Kitty had naturally a very flexible voice, and that Madame had trained her for nearly a year. When the song was ended Gaston entered the room to express his thanks and astonishment, both of which Kitty received with bursts of laughter.

      ‘You have a fortune in your throat, mademoiselle,’ he said, with a bow, ‘and I assure you I have heard all the great singers of to-day from Patti downwards.’

      ‘I have only been able to teach her very little,’ said Madame, looking affectionately at Miss Marchurst, who now stood by the table, blushing at Vandeloup’s praises, ‘but when we find the Devil’s Lead I am going to send her home to Italy to study singing.’

      ‘For the stage?’ asked Vandeloup.

      ‘That is as it may be,’ replied Madame, enigmatically, ‘but now, M. Vandeloup, you must sing us something.’

      ‘Oh, does he sing?’ said Kitty, joyously.

      ‘Yes, and play too,’ answered Madame, as she vacated her seat at the piano and put her arm round Kitty, ‘sing us something from the “Grand Duchess”, Monsieur.’

      He shook his head.

      ‘Too gay for such an hour,’ he said, running his fingers lightly over the keys; ‘I will give you something from “Faust”.’

      He had a pleasant tenor voice, not very strong, but singularly pure and penetrating, and he sang ‘Salve Dinora’, the exquisite melody of which touched the heart of Madame Midas with a vague longing for love and affection, while in Kitty’s breast there was a feeling she had never felt before. Her joyousness departed, her eyes glanced at the singer in a half-frightened manner, and she clung closer to Madame Midas as if she were afraid, as indeed she was.

      When Vandeloup finished the song he dashed into a riotous student song which he had heard many a time in midnight Paris, and finally ended with singing Alfred de Musset’s merry little chanson, which he thought especially appropriate to Kitty: —

      Bonjour, Suzon, ma fleur des bois, Es-tu toujours la plus jolie, Je reviens, tel que tu me vois,

      D’un grand votage en Italie.

      Altogether Kitty had enjoyed her evening immensely, and was quite sorry when Brown came to take her home. Madame wrapped her up well and put her in the buggy, but was rather startled to see her flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and the sudden glances she stole at Vandeloup, who stood handsome and debonair in the moonlight.

      ‘I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake,’ she said to herself as the buggy drove off.

      She had, for Kitty had fallen in love with the Frenchman.

      And Gaston?

      He walked back to the house beside Madame, thinking of Kitty, and humming the gay refrain of the song he had been singing —

      ‘Je passe devant ta maison Ouvre ta porte, Bonjour, Suzon.’

      Decidedly it was a case of love at first sight on both sides.

      CHAPTER VII. – MR VILLIERS PAYS A VISIT

      Slivers and his friend Villiers were by no means pleased with the existing state of things. In sending Vandeloup to the Pactolus claim, they had thought to compromise Madame Midas by placing her in the society of a young and handsome man, and counting on one of two things happening – either that Madame would fall in love with the attractive Frenchman, and seek for a divorce in order to marry him – which divorce Villiers would of course resist, unless she bribed him by giving him an interest in the Pactolus – or that Villiers could assume an injured tone and accuse Vandeloup of being his wife’s lover, and threaten to divorce her unless she made him her partner in the claim. But they had both reckoned wrongly, for neither of these things happened, as Madame was not in love with Vandeloup, and acted with too much circumspection to give any opportunity for scandal. Consequently, Slivers and Co., not finding matters going to their satisfaction, met one day at the office of the senior partner for the purpose of discussing the affair, and seeing what could be done towards bringing Madame Midas to their way of thinking.

      Villiers was lounging in one of the chairs, dressed in a white linen suit, and looked rather respectable, though his inflamed face and watery eyes showed what a drunkard he was. He was sipping a glass of whisky and water and smoking his pipe, while he watched Slivers stumping up and down the office, swinging his cork arm vehemently to and fro as was his custom when excited. Billy sat on the table and eyed his master with a steady stare, or else hopped about among the papers talking to himself.

      ‘You thought you were going to do big things when you sent that jackadandy out to the Pactolus,’ said Villiers, after a pause.

      ‘At any rate, I did something,’ snarled Slivers, in a rage, ‘which is more than you did, you whisky barrel.’

      ‘Look here, don’t you call names,’ growled Mr Villiers, in a sulky tone. ‘I’m a gentleman, remember that.’

      ‘You were a gentleman, you mean,’ corrected the senior partner, with a malignant glance of his one eye. ‘What are you now?’

      ‘A stockbroker,’ retorted the other, taking a sip of whisky.

      ‘And a damned poor one at that,’ replied the other, sitting on the edge of the table, which position caused his wooden leg to stick straight out, a result which he immediately utilized by pointing it threateningly in the direction of Villiers.

      ‘Look here,’ said that gentleman, suddenly sitting up in his chair in a defiant manner, ‘drop these personalities and come to business; what’s to be done? Vandeloup is firmly established there, but there’s not the slightest chance of my wife falling in love with him.’

      ‘Wait,’ said Slivers, stolidly wagging his wooden leg up and down; ‘wait, you blind fool, wait.’

      ‘Wait for the waggon!’ shrieked Billy, behind, and then supplemented his remarks by adding, ‘Oh, my precious mother!’ as he climbed up on Slivers’ shoulder.

      ‘You always say wait,’ growled Villiers, not paying any attention to Billy’s interruption; ‘I tell you we can’t wait much longer; they’ll drop on the Devil’s Lead shortly, and then we’ll be up a tree.’

      ‘Then, suppose you go out to the Pactolus and see your wife,’ suggested Slivers.

      ‘No go,’ returned Villiers, gloomily, ‘she’d break my head.’

      ‘Bah! you ain’t afraid of a woman, are you?’ snarled Slivers, viciously.

      ‘No, but I am of McIntosh and the rest of them,’ retorted Villiers. ‘What can one man do against twenty of these devils. Why, they’d kill me if I went out there; and that infernal wife of mine wouldn’t raise her little finger to save me.’

      ‘You’re a devil!’ observed Billy, eyeing Villiers from his perch on Slivers’ shoulder. ‘Oh, Lord! ha! ha! ha!’ going into fits of laughter; then drawing himself suddenly up, he ejaculated ‘Pickles!’ and shut up.

      ‘It’s no good beating about the bush,’ said the wooden-legged man, getting down from the table. ‘You go out near the claim, and see if you can catch her; then give it to her hot.’

      ‘What am I to say?’ asked Villiers, helplessly.

      Slivers looked at him with fiery scorn in his one eye.

      ‘Say!’ he shrieked, waving his cork arm, ‘talk about your darned honour! Say she’s dragging your noble name through the mud, and say you’ll divorce her if she don’t give you half a share in the Pactolus; that will frighten her.’

      ‘Pickles!’ again ejaculated the parrot.

      ‘Oh, no, it won’t,’ said Villiers;