‘And yet that must be the soul of fine acting,’ said Coningsby; ‘I look forward, all look forward, with great interest to the next occasion on which you will favour us.’
‘Never!’ said La Petite, in a plaintive tone; ‘oh, I hope, never!’
‘Mademoiselle is not aware at this moment,’ said Coningsby, ‘how much her talent is appreciated. I assure you, sir,’ he added, turning to Villebecque, ‘I heard but one opinion, but one expression of gratification at her feeling and her fine taste.’
‘The talent is hereditary,’ said Villebecque.
‘Indeed you have reason to say so,’ said Coningsby.
‘Pardon; I was not thinking of myself. My child reminded me so much of another this evening. But that is nothing. I am glad you are here, sir, to reassure Mademoiselle.’
‘I came only to congratulate her, and to lament, for our sakes as well as her own, her indisposition.’
‘It is not indisposition,’ said La Petite, in a low tone, with her eyes cast down.
‘Mademoiselle cannot overcome the nervousness incidental to a first appearance,’ said Villebecque.
‘A last appearance,’ said La Petite: ‘yes, it must be the last.’ She rose gently, she approached Villebecque, she laid her head on his breast, and placed her arms round his neck, ‘My father, my best father, yes, say it is the last.’