How should they? How
should they dream, that I, Maurice Cristich, second violin in the orchestra
of the opera, had to do with the Leonora; even I! Her voice thrilled them;
ah, but it was I who taught her her notes! They praised her diamonds; yes,
but once I gave her that she wanted more than diamonds, bread, and lodging
and love. Beautiful they called her; she was beautiful too, when I carried
her in my arms through Vienna. I am an old man now, and good for very
little; and there have been days, God forgive me! when I have been angry
with her; but it was not to-night. To see her there, so beautiful and so
great; and to feel that after all I had a hand in it, that I invented her.
Yes, yes! I had my victory to-night too; though it was so private; a secret
between you and me, Monsieur? Is it not?'
I assured him of my discretion, but he hardly seemed to hear. His sad eyes
had wandered away to the live coals, and he considered them pensively, as
though he found them full of charming memories. I sat back, respecting
his remoteness; but my silence was replete with surprised conjecture, and
indeed the quaint figure of the old musician, every line of his garments
redolent of ill success, had become to me, of a sudden, strangely romantic.
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