"The man is dangerous. Aren't you afraid of him? I am afraid of him.
Has he a wife?"
"No."
"A mistress?"
"No."
"What theaters does he attend?"
"To-night he will be at the Nicolini Theater, where Virginia Marini
and Salvini are acting; they are the greatest living artists in
Italy, perhaps in Europe.
"See that you get a box--and be quick about it!" she commanded.
"But, mistress--"
"Do you want a taste of the whip?"
* * * * *
"You can wait down in the lobby," she said when I had placed the
opera-glasses and the programme on the edge of her box and adjusted
the footstool.
I am standing there and had to lean against the wall for support so
as not to fall down with envy and rage--no, rage isn't the right
word; it was a mortal fear.
I saw her in her box dressed in blue moire, with a huge ermine cloak
about her bare shoulders; he sat opposite. I saw them devour each
other with their eyes. For both of them the stage, Goldoni's _Pamela,_
Salvini, Marini, the public, even the entire world, were non-existant
to-night. And I--what was I at that moment?--
* * * * *
To-day she is attending the ball at the Greek ambassador's. Does she
know, that she will meet him there?
At any rate she dressed, as if she did. A heavy sea-green silk dress
plastically encloses her divine form, leaving the bust and arms bare.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149