CHAPTER XIII.
THE FRIEND WHO STOOD BY As the day fixed for her recital approached, Diana became a prey to intermittent attacks of nerves.
"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.