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Updated: May 22, 2025
The photograph was a portrait of the man who, since my acquaintance with Rosa, had haunted my footsteps the mysterious and implacable person whom I had seen first opposite the Devonshire Mansion, then in the cathedral at Bruges during my vigil by the corpse of Alresca, then in the train which was wrecked, and finally in the Channel steamer which came near to sinking.
And I went back in memory to those sinister days in London before I had brought Alresca to Bruges, days over which a mysterious horror had seemed to brood. I felt myself adrift in a sea of frightful suspicions. I remembered his outburst against Rosetta Rosa. I remembered Emmeline Smith's outburst against Rosetta Rosa.
To my speculations I discovered no answer. Then the moment had come when Alresca's thigh was so far mended that, under special conditions, we could travel, and one evening, after a journey full of responsibilities for me, we had arrived in Bruges. Soon afterwards came a slight alteration. Alresca took pleasure in his lovely house, and I was aware of an improvement in his condition.
And I remembered the similar advice which, out of the plenitude of my youthful wisdom, I had offered to Alresca only a few days before. "The fact is that I have signed a contract to sing 'Carmen' at the Paris Opéra Comique in a fortnight's time. I have never sung the rôle there before, and I am, or rather I was, very anxious to do so.
He had showed not the least curiosity as to Alresca's personality, and I very much doubt whether he had taken the trouble to differentiate between the finest tenor in Europe and a chorus-singer. For Toddy, Alresca was simply an individual who sang and cut capers.
Alresca's man was awaiting us in the portico of the Devonshire, and without a word he led us to his master. Alresca lay on his back on a couch in a large and luxuriously littered drawing-room. The pallor of his face and the soft brilliance of his eyes were infinitely pathetic, and again he reminded me of the tragic and gloomy third act of "Tristan." He greeted us kindly in his quiet voice.
"Rosetta Rosa's coming, and she won't go quite everywhere not quite! By the way, it's about time she did come." He looked at his watch. "Ah, Mr. Foster," the divette said, "you must tell me all about that business. I'm told you were there, and that there was a terrible scene." "What business?" I inquired. "At the Opera the other night, when Alresca broke his thigh.
His soul is too far removed from his body, and even from his mind, to be seriously influenced by the mistakes and misfortunes of his mind and body. Do you understand me?" "I think so." "What is the matter with Alresca is something in his most secret soul." "And you can form no idea of what it is?" She made no reply. "Doctors certainly can't cure such diseases as that," I said.
The antechamber had already been lighted, and the figure was silhouetted against the yellow radiance. "So you are here, and I have found you, all in the dark!" Alresca turned his head. "Rosa!" he cried in bewilderment, put out his arms, and then drew them sharply back again. It was Rosetta.
He could not move. He was nonplussed. The door of the box opened, and an official with a blazing diamond in his shirt-front entered hurriedly. "What is it, Nolan?" "There's been an accident to Monsieur Alresca, Sir Cyril, and they want a doctor." It was the chance of a lifetime! I ought to have sprung up and proudly announced, "I'm a doctor." But did I? No!
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