‘You’ve begun with the overture?’
‘Why not, my child? Here’s your dressing-gown. Which is the top end of it?’
I followed him downstairs, and sat close by him at the piano, with one limp hand on his shoulder. There was no light in the drawing-rooms, save one candle on the piano. My slipper escaped off my bare foot. As Diaz played he looked at me constantly, demanding my approval, my enthusiasm, which I gave him from a full heart. I thought the music charming, and, of course, as he played it...!
‘I shall only have three motives,’ he said. ‘That’s the La Vallière motive. Do you see the idea?’
‘You mean she limps?’
‘Precisely. Isn’t it delightful?’
‘She won’t have to limp much, you know. She didn’t.’
‘Just the faintest suggestion. It will be delicious. I can see Morenita in the part. Well, what do you think of it?’
I could not speak. His appeal, suddenly wistful, moved me so. I leaned forward and kissed him.
‘Dear girl!’ he murmured.