Olympia had selected an auspicious time for the first appearance of her protege, as she always persisted in calling Caroline.

It was the fashion just then to recognize American genius with something like enthusiasm, and the very suddenness with which this young girl had been brought forward operated in her favor.

A glowing account of her voice and beauty had reached the public just at a time when no special excitement occupied it, and this served to draw a crowd around the opera house long before the hour of opening.

On the outskirts of this crowd, the carriage which contained Olympia and her victim for such the heroine of the evening really was made its way toward the stage door. Olympia leaned out of the window, and cried exultingly:

“Look, child, look! Hundreds of people waiting already!”

Caroline cast one frightened glance at the crowd, and shrank back with a faint moan.

Just as the audience began to pour in through the opened doors the carriage drove up to the stage entrance, and Olympia took a leap from the steps and held the carriage door open with her own hand, while Caroline descended more slowly. The light from a neighboring lamp fell upon her face, and revealed the tears that stood upon her cheeks, and a half rebellious look in the eyes, which Olympia saw, and met with angry bitterness.

“Crying again? Shooting spiteful looks at me, as if I were a monster, instead of a tender, considerate, self-sacrificing mother, ready to share everything with you, even my glory! Was ever such ingratitude?”

Caroline did not answer, but walked into the narrow door, and stood upon the dreary stage, panting for breath, like some superb animal from the wild woods, hunted down, and without hopes of escape.

“This way come this way,” said Olympia, taking hold of her arm. “Perhaps you will remember that we are late. The audience was crowding in like a torrent when we passed the door. Come!”

Caroline allowed herself to be led along the stage, through yawning vistas of scenery ready placed for use, and along dark passages, until she came to Olympia’s dressing-room, in which a blaze of light was reflected by half-a-dozen mirrors, and fell like sunshine on a pile of gorgeous vestments laid out for her use.

Caroline shrank back with a faint, sick feeling. Oh, how everything had changed since she was so fascinated by a scene like that! Her delicate, proud nature revolted from the splendid confusion. From her very heart she loathed the sumptuous garments with which Olympia had hoped to tempt her.

“Is there no hope?” she cried, desperately. “I would rather suffer anything than undertake this part!”

“Hope? Yes, there is everything to hope. The house is crowded already. There never was so fine an opening. Come, make ready!”

“Not if I have the power to resist.”

She spoke in a low but resolute voice, which frightened Olympia, who stood gazing at the pale young face turned upon her with a frown of terrible anger gathering on her forehead.

“Caroline, you cannot resist. My word is given, the contract signed, my honor pledged. Would you disgrace me forever?”

“Your honor pledged, and I belong to you,” said the girl. “I see, I see there is no escaping! It is my miserable destiny!”

Caroline took off the cloak in which she was wrapped, flung down all her magnificent hair, and seated herself before one of the mirrors.

“Do with me as you please,” she said, turning a weary glance upon the mirror. “It may be my death, but you will have it so.”

The next moment that unhappy girl found herself in the hands of a clever French maid, who fairly revelled in her task, as she shook out that rich mass of hair, and held it up for the light to shine through. But Caroline took no heed. The toilet only reminded her of that most hideous one when Marie Antoinette was prepared for the scaffold. For the moment she almost wished it possible to change places with that unhappy woman.

But the French waiting-maid went on with her work, while Olympia stood by, directing her.

Not till she felt a soft touch on her cheek did the girl rebel. Then she started up, and, pushing the maid away, rubbed her cheek with a handkerchief so resolutely that the maid clapped her hands, declaring that it was enough no roses could be more lovely.

Then she fell to her task again, muttering to herself:

“Oh, it will come in time! Youth is so satisfied with itself. But it all ends in that.”

Here the maid nodded toward a tiny jar of rouge, as if to encourage it, and went on with her task.

“Now look at yourself!” said Olympia, tossing aside some garment that had been flung over the swinging-glass. “What do you think of that?”

Caroline looked, and saw a beautiful woman, with sweeping garments of rose-colored silk, and a cloud of frost-like lace flung over her head and trailing down her shoulders. Splendid jewels whether real or false, she did not care to ask twinkled like stars through the lace, both on her head and bosom. The pictures thus reflected were beautiful, but stormy.

Olympia saw that the rebellious spirit was but half subdued.

“What can I do?” she said, in her perplexity, addressing the maid, who lifted up both hands and shook her head as she answered:

“Ah, madame! if a toilet like that fails, who can say?”

“I will send for Brown. She will listen to him,” said Olympia, driven to desperation. “With that spirit, she will never get the rollicking air for her first act.”

She went to the door, and found the teacher lingering near, restless and anxious almost as herself.

“Brown I say, Brown come in! She is dressed, but so obstinate! If she were about to play Norma, it would be worth everything, but in this part ! Do come in, dear Brown, and get her up to the proper feeling.”

Brown entered the room in absolute distress. He would gladly have kept that young creature from the stage; but having no power to aid her in avoiding it, was nervously anxious that she should make a success.

Caroline turned to him at once, and came forward with her hands held out.

“Oh, Mr. Brown, help me! It is not too late. Let them say I am sick. Indeed, indeed, it will be true! She can take the part, and leave me in peace. Ask her, beg of her; say that I will go into her kitchen, be her maid, go out as a teacher anything on earth, if she will only spare me this once! Ask her, Mr. Brown. Sometimes she will listen to you!”

Brown held both her hands. They were cold as ice, and he felt that she was trembling all over.

“My dear, dear child! I have pleaded with her. I have done my best.”

“But again again! Oh, Mr. Brown, do!”

Brown drew Olympia on one side, and entreated her to give the unhappy girl more time; but he knew well enough that he was asking almost an impossibility that the woman had no power to grant that which he implored of her. In her arrogant power she had pledged that young creature, body and soul, to the public. How could she draw back, when the crowding rush of the audience might now be heard from the place where they stood.

Still the man pleaded with her, for he loved the girl better than anything on earth, and, knowing something of the feelings which made the stage so repulsive to her, would have died to save her from the pain of that night’s experience.

Olympia was impatient, nervous, angry. What did the man think? Was she to throw away the chances of a great success and a brilliant fortune, because a romantic girl did not know her own mind? Was she to disgrace herself before all London?

Brown had no answer. The whole thing was unreasonable he knew that well enough; but his heart ached for the poor girl. So he had done his best, and failed miserably.

“Go back and cheer the foolish thing up,” said Olympia. “You can do it. She loves you better than any one in the world. Now, if you want to oblige me, give her courage, soothe her. I never saw such a creature! With the genius and voice of an angel, she has no ambition; but it will come. Before the drinking song is over, she will forget herself. Go, Brown, and give her courage.”

Brown went back to the dressing-room, feeling like an executioner.

Caroline met him eagerly; but when she saw his face, her heart turned to stone.

“I see! I see!” she said. “I am doomed! But, remember, I was forced into this. Of my own choice, I would have died first; but she is my mother, and, in my ignorance, I promised her. Tell him this, if you should ever see him. I never shall. After what he said of parts like this, I should perish with shame. Ha! what’s that?”

“They are calling you,” faltered Brown.

She caught a sharp breath and sprang away from him, like a deer when the hounds are in full cry.