"Supposing I should fail?" she would sometimes exclaim, in a sudden
spasm of despair.
Then Baroni would reply quite contentedly:--
"My dear Mees Quentin, you will not fail. God has given you the
instrument, and I, Baroni, I haf taught you how to use it. _Gran Dio_!
Fail!" This last accompanied by a snort of contempt.
Or it might be Olga Lermontof to whom Diana would confide her fears.
She, equally with the old _maestro_, derided the possibility of
failure, and there was something about her cool assurance of success
that always sufficed to steady Diana's nerves, at least for the time
being.
"As I have you to accompany me," Diana told her one day, when she was
ridiculing the idea of failure, "I may perhaps get through all right.
I simply _lean_ on you when I'm singing. I feel like a boat floating
on deep water--almost as though I couldn't sink."
"Well, you can't." Miss Lermontof spoke with conviction. "I shan't
break down--I could play everything you sing blindfold!--and your voice
is . . . Oh, well"--hastily--"I can't talk about your voice. But I
believe I could forgive you anything in the world when you sing."
Diana stared at her in surprise. She had no idea that Olga was
particularly affected by her singing.
"It's rather absurd, isn't it?" continued the Russian, a mocking light
in her eyes that somehow reminded Diana of Max Errington. "But there
it is.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168