"Mr. Rich means to do without a band for the singing. He says it isn't necessary." "Rich is a fool," retorted her grace with much emphasis. "He knows nothing about it. Send him to me." Gay went about his errand half pleased, for he quite agreed with the duchess, and half in trepidation. A quarrel between Rich and the lady autocrat might cause the opera to end in disaster. Rich dared not offend Queensberry's duchess whose opinion went for so much among the aristocracy. The stage was practically dependent on its noble patrons. Without them a "benefit," which every notable member of a theatrical company looked forward to as making good the insufficiency of their salaries, would be nothing without the support of the nobility, who, when in the mood, would readily unloose their purse strings. Rich therefore made but feeble resistance and the impetuous Kitty had her way. The band, small as it was, just half-a-dozen instruments, could not be called together at a moment's notice. Rich accordingly invited his visitor to come the following day, when all would be in readiness. He was as good as his word, and the duchess was graciously pleased to express her satisfaction. Polly and Lucy went back to their lodgings in high spirits. January 29th was fixed for the production of the opera, and the days sped rapidly. Everybody concerned was on tenterhooks. Who could say how the audience would take a play the like of which they had never seen? There was also danger in the political allusions contained in many of the verses. Sir Robert Walpole, England's most powerful minister of state, had taken a box and would be present with a party of his friends. What would _he_ think? A riot was not beyond the bounds of possibility. The play might be suppressed. A prosecution for seditious proceedings might follow. Anything might happen. Meanwhile the house was packed. Every seat on each side of the stage reserved for the "quality" was occupied. There was just room for the actors and no more. The gallery was crammed with a mob--a host of footmen prone to unruly behaviour, butchers from Clare Market ready to applaud their favourite Jemmy Spiller, Covent Garden salesmen and porters--a miscellaneous rabble that might easily become turbulent. In the pit were well to do tradesmen and their wives cheek by jowl with well seasoned playgoers who had seen every stage celebrity and every famous tragedy and comedy for the past quarter of a century, who were well versed in all the traditional "business" of the boards, who in fact were the real critics to be pleased--or offended. Into the second row Lancelot Vane had squeezed himself all expectation, with eyes and ears for no one but Polly Peachum.