Ne le réveillez pas, seigneur duc de Mendoce,
Il est las. Mon amour, tiens-toi vers moi tourné.
Plus près—plus près encore—’”
Hildegarde, with tears, put out her hand and took Bella’s. No word, just the clasp of hands, till they fell apart to work.
“H’m,” said Mrs. Mar dryly. “I suppose you’ve seen Sarah Bernhardt go on like that.”
“No, oh, no. I don’t like Sarah in this. I do it much better.”
“A good many people seem to be able to put up with the other lady.”
But Bella, smiling, shook her head, as she drew a new strand of silver thread through her needle. “I don’t like seeing her make dear Doña Sol so—so snaky, and so wildly unnatural.”
“Well, if you think Doña Sol’s natural—”
Bella laughed. “You’d think she was nature itself compared to Sarah.”