"But all the same, it is strange," the husband said suddenly, "that
the glorious prologue is missing in this arrangement. I remember
distinctly that there was a prologue with an accompaniment of harps
and a chorus which went like this."
He softly hummed the tune, which bubbled up like a stream in a
mountain glen; note succeeded note, his face cleared, his lips smiled,
the lines disappeared, his fingers touched the keys, and drew from
them melodies, powerful, caressing and full of eternal youth, while
with a strong and ringing voice he sang the part of the bass.
His wife started from her melancholy reverie and listened with tears
in her eyes.
"What are you singing?" she asked, full of amazement.
"Romeo and Julia! Our Romeo and our Julia!"
He jumped up from the music stool and pushed the music towards his
astonished wife.
"Look! This was the Romeo of our uncles and aunts, this was--read
it--Bellini! Oh! We are not old, after all!"
The wife looked at the thick, glossy hair of her husband, his smooth
brow and flashing eyes, with joy.
"And you? You look like a young girl. We have allowed old Bellini to
make fools of us. I felt that something was wrong."
"No, darling, I thought so first.
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