"She was saved from that terrible holocaust of flame, then," Walter cried out, almost wild with the joy of the tidings. But no one could tell him whether Madame Dolores was living or not. Her rescuer had carried her out of the burning building and placed her in the arms of Professor Larue. He had carried her away, and no one knew anything further as yet. Walter drove to the hotel where the professor and his wife were staying with their ward. He sent up his card and the professor came down to him. They looked at each other silently a moment, then Walter breathed "Lina?" through white lips that could scarcely utter that simple name. Professor Larue shook his head sadly. "Do not tell me she is dead!" Walter exclaimed, in an agony of fear and dread. "She lives," the professor answered, "if a mere wavering breath may be called living. But she is horribly, horribly burned, and her sufferings are fearful. Half a dozen doctors are with her this moment. They will save her life if it is possible to accomplish it." "Thank God, she lives," Walter exclaimed, and hurried away to carry the welcome news to Violet, while the almost heart-broken old professor hurried back to that quiet chamber where the angels of life and death were striving together over Jaquelina Meredith's scorched and writhing frame. So the _prima donna's_ bridal day dawned dark and gloomy, and overcast, and Jaquelina lay upon her couch of pain, swathed from head to foot in bandages of linen, while the breath of life wavered unevenly between the pallid, parted lips, and every gasp was one of almost unendurable anguish. And the morning papers which chronicled the particulars of the great fire, told the public that Madam Dolores would live, but she had been so horribly burned, even to her face and hands, that her beauty would be marred and ruined forever. The physicians were of the opinion that her exquisite voice would be destroyed also. She would be a perfect physical wreck. "I do not believe it!" Walter Earle cried out in passionate unbelief, and he went to the physicians and asked them for the truth. They were very sorry for him, but they confirmed the newspaper reports. They believed that Madame Dolores would carry those terrible scars on her face to the grave, and they did not think it possible that she would ever sing again. "I would rather she had died than lose all her charms!" Walter cried to his own heart, in a perfect fever of regret and despair, and he went to the hotel and begged Mrs. Larue to let him see Jaquelina if but for a moment. The professor's wife refused flatly. She said that Lina was far too ill to see anyone, and that the lightest footstep in the room set her wild with nervous pain. He must wait. It would be some time--three weeks, perhaps--before he could be admitted to the room.