“Let us repeat the Credo,” said the priest, taking in his hands those of the dying man, and approaching his mouth to his ears, to make him understand the last words of faith, hope, and charity. A majestic and imposing silence reigned in this humble retreat, which death had come to penetrate.
Without, the tempest raged in all its terrible power; within, all was peace and repose: because God takes from death all its fears, and all its horror, when the soul springs to heaven at the cry of pity!
CHAPTER XXV.
THE world is composed of contrasts: nothing is more true than this eternal verity.
It was thus that, when the poor fisherman presented to his humble and pious friends the sublime spectacle of the death of a believer, his daughter rendered the public of Madrid enthusiastic even to frenzy. A prima donna without a drop of Italian blood in her veins, eclipsed the grand Tenorini herself. The impression produced by the singer was so great, so general, that the employés deserted their offices, and the students the benches of their classes.
This enthusiasm manifested itself one evening at the door of the theatre, in a group of young men, who sought to make two strangers, recently landed, share their admiration. They commented, they analyzed the quality of the voice, the suppleness of her throat, the superiority of her method of the Diva, without forgetting to eulogize her physical advantages. A young man, covered up to his eyes in a cloak, remained immovable and silent some paces from this group; but when they boasted of the physical advantages of the singer, he stamped his foot with anger.
“I will bet a hundred guineas, dear viscount,” said our friend Sir John Burnwood, who, not having obtained authority to carry off Alcazar, proposed to himself to ask leave to take Escurial—“I will bet that this woman will make more noise in France than Madame Lafarge; and in England, more than Tom Thumb; and in Italy, than Rossini.”
“I do not doubt it,” replied the viscount.
“What magnificent black eyes!” added a new admirer. “What an elegant and subtle form! As to her feet, one does not see them, and we can only guess: the Magdalen would envy her her hair.”
“I am impatient to hear this wonder,” said the viscount; “let us enter, gentlemen.”