"But Michael Angelo——"
"Come, come—to make you both agree I will play you the air from Fidelio, of which M. Arnold is so fond, and of which he has made you as fond as himself, father."
"Confess, Don Raphael," said the old man to Arnold, laughing as he spoke, "that she has more sense than we have."
"Decidedly, Signor Michael Angelo; and Madame Bertha knows very well, that when we listen to her we have no inclination to talk."
"Oh, M. Arnold, I am not the dupe of your flatteries."
"To try him, my dear, begin the overture to Fidelio. You know it is my favourite piece ever since our friend has made me comprehend its beauties."
Bertha began to play this piece with love; the presence of Arnold seemed to give a new power to her talent.
At the end of a few minutes M. de Hansfeld appeared completely absorbed in deep and painful meditation; although he had often heard Bertha play this music, the sad feelings its recollections excited bad never been more painfully aroused.
"Bertha, who from time to time looked at Arnold, exclaimed, 'M. Arnold, what ails you? oh! how pale you are!'"