The necessary suppression of his anger at
such a moment, and in such surroundings, suppression of any demonstration
of it at least, was evidently torturing him. Someone--a man--spoke to
him. His wife saw that he seemed to choke something down before he could
get out a word in reply. Directly he had answered he moved away from the
man towards Miss Schley, but he did not go up to her. He did not trust
himself to do that. He stood still again, staring. Leo bent protectively
over the American. She smiled at him demurely beneath lowered eyelids.
The little old lady shook out her rusty black dress and assumed an absurd
air of social sprightliness, making a mouth bunched up like an
old-fashioned purse sharply drawn together by a string.
There was a sudden lull in the roar of conversation from the
concert-room, succeeded by a wide rustling noise. The Princesses had at
length arrived, and the audience was standing up as they came in and took
their seats. After a brief silence the rustling noise was renewed as the
audience sat down again. Then the pianist hurried up to a grave-looking
girl who was tenderly holding a violin, took her hand and led her away
behind the screen. A moment later the opening bars of a duet were
audible.
The people in the artists' room began to sit down with a slight air of
resignation. The French actor looked at the very pointed toes of his
varnished boots and composed his india-rubber features into a solemn,
almost priestly, expression.
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