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The pieces in which Madame ST. AUBIN excels are Le Prisonnier, Adolphe et Clara, and L'Opera Comique, which is the title of a piece, as I have already mentioned. Madame SCIO. Although she is said not to be well versed in music, she has a very extensive and powerful voice, but its tones have little variety. As an actress, she is very indifferent. Without being mean, she has no nobleness of manner.
Romaine, no doubt my memory will confuse these lads with their betters, and their mothers with the ladies of the salle de l'Opéra: just as in time, no doubt, I shall find myself Justice of the Peace, and Deputy-Lieutenant of the shire of Buckingham. I am changing my country, as you remind me: and, on my faith, she has no place for me.
With Azef he had gone to the Hôtel Chatham on purpose to extract from her dressing-case her own bottle of aspirin which she had purchased on the previous day from the same chemist in the Avenue de l'Opéra and replace it by the one containing the fatal dose. The latter she had swallowed in ignorance because of a headache, death ensuing in a few seconds, and the post-mortem revealed nothing.
"It was a privilege, Mademoiselle, to be allowed to see you in so charming a costume," I said, pressing her hand tenderly. "I envy that artist from the bottom of my heart." Mademoiselle Josephine smiled, and returned the pressure. "One might borrow it," said she, "for the Bal de l'Opéra." "Ah, Mademoiselle, if I dared only aspire to the honor of conducting you!"
Ten guineas per night five hundred for the season is the price exacted for a first-rate opera-box; and as the exclusives usually arrive at the close of the opera, or, if earlier, keep up a perpetual babble during its performance, they clearly come for the dancing. "On voit l'opéra, et l'on écoute le ballet," used to be said of the Académie de Musique.
The boxes, with the innocent ignorance of the oeil-de-boeuf, propose to maintain the old order, to stand by Bellini and Donizetti and the last half-century. It is touching and interesting. Vive l'opera italienne! Vivent les loges!
On my way back, just as I was crossing the Place de l'Opera in the aforesaid cab, a voice hailed me: "Monsieur Mouillard!" I looked first to the right and then to the left, till, on a refuge, I caught sight of M. Plumet struggling to attract my attention. I stopped the cab, and a smile of satisfaction spread over M. Plumet's countenance. He stepped off the refuge. I opened the cab-door.
The early days of opéra comique in Paris were distracted by the jealousy existing between the French and Italian schools, but in 1762 peace was made between the rival factions, and by process of fusion the two became one. With the opening of the new Théâtre de l'Opéra Comique the Salle Favart, as it was then called there began a new and brilliant period for the history of French art.
And, always, walking briskly along the Rue Royale or the Avenue de l'Opera, or in the garden of the Tuileries where the school-boys played their odd French games, her eyes were searching the faces of the men she met. Any tall man in civilian clothes set her heart beating faster.
The two concealed officers stepped forward and arrested her where she stood as the accomplice of Jean Duret, who, the night before, had flung a bomb in the crowded Avenue de l'Opéra. Even the prejudiced French judges soon saw that the girl was innocent of all evil intent, and was but the victim of the scoundrel who passed by the name of Jean Duret. He was sentenced for life; she was set free.
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