Baroni had
schooled it with the utmost care, keeping always in view his purpose
that the coming June should witness her debut, and Diana, catching fire
from his enthusiasm, had answered to every demand he had made upon her.
Her voice was now something to marvel at. It had matured into a rich
contralto of amazing compass, and with a peculiar thrilling quality
about it which gripped and held you almost as though some one had laid
a hand upon your heart. Baroni hugged himself as he realised what a
_furore_ in the musical world this voice would create when at last he
allowed the silence to be broken. Already there were whispers flying
about of the wonderful contralto he was training, of whom it was
rumoured that she would have the whole world at her feet from the
moment that Baroni produced her.
The old _maestro_ had his plans all cut and dried. Early in June, just
when the season should be in full swing, there was to be a concert--a
recital with only Kirolski, the Polish violinist, and Madame Berthe
Louvigny, the famous French pianist, to assist. Those two names alone
would inevitably draw a big crowd of all the musical people who
mattered, and Diana's golden voice would do the rest.
This was to be the solitary concert for the season, but, to whet the
appetite of society, Diana was also to appear at a single big
reception--"Baroni won't look at anything less than a ducal house with
Royalty present," as Jerry banteringly asserted--and then, while the
world was still agape with interest and excitement, the singer was to
be whisked away to Crailing for three months' holiday, and to accept no
more engagements until the winter.
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