She
seemed to be comparing the two attentions, of age and of youth. Perhaps
she found something horrible in the process for she suddenly lost her
expression of sparkling and birdlike sarcasm, and bending her arm, as if
overcome with lassitude, she let her fan drop on her knees, and stared
moodily at the carpet.
A very tall woman, with snow-white hair and a face in which nobility and
weariness were mated, let fall two tears, and a huge man, with short,
bronze-coloured hair and a protruding lower jaw, who was sitting opposite
to her, noticed them and suddenly looked proud.
The light soprano voice went on singing an Italian song about a summer
night in Venice, about stars, dark waters and dark palaces, heat, and the
sound of music, and of gondoliers calling over the lagoons to their
comrades. It was an exquisite voice; not large, but flexible and very
warm. The pianoforte accompaniment was rather uneasy and faltering. Now
and then, when it became blurred and wavering, the voice was abruptly
hard and decisive, once even piercing and almost shrewish. Then the
pianist, as if attacked by fear, played louder and hurried the tempo, the
little dark woman smiled mischievously, the white-haired woman put her
handkerchief to her eyes, and the young man looked as if he wished to
commit murder. But the huge man with the bronze hair went on looking
equably proud.
When the voice died away there was distinct, though slight, applause,
which partially drowned the accompanist's muddled conclusion.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25