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On one occasion she had tickets sent her for the theatre. She worked till the carriage was announced. "Je suis prête," said Rosa, and went to the play in her working dress. A daintily gloved man in the box next to hers looked over in disdain, and finally went into the vestibule and found the manager. "Who is this woman in the box next to mine?" he said, in a rage.
Words, even the simplest, spoken just before some great moment of a life, some high triumph, or deep catastrophe, stick with resolution in the memory. Lucrezia had once said of Gaspare on the terrace before the Casa del Prete: "One cannot speak with him to-day." That was on the evening of the night on which Maurice's dead body was found.
At this moment the path narrowed and he had to fall behind, and they did not speak again till they had clambered up the last bit of the way, steep almost as the side of a house, passed through the old ruined arch, and came out upon the terrace before the Casa del Prete.
Sweet, thrilling, her voice poured forth into the crowded auditorium. The people sat spellbound. There was a moment of silence; no one offered to applaud. And then she began again. Oui c'est un reve, Un reve doux d'amour She faltered La nuit lui prete son mystere, Il doit finir avec le jour the voice broke. Men were standing up in the audience. One cried out: "Il doit finir "
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