“Yes, it’s Maltese——”
“What glorious art!”
“Don’t say ‘No.’”
“Oh, sir! what music!”
“Yes, it’s not bad.”
By this time the opera had got to the lovely trio, “Sweet Moments,” and the exquisite delicacy of the simple air overcame me too. I hid my face in my hands, and tears trickled between my fingers. I might have been plunged in the depths of woe.
As the trio ended two strong arms lifted me off my seat, nearly crushing my breast-bone in; the enthusiast, recognising one fellow-worshipper amongst the cold-blooded lot around, hugged me furiously, crying:
“B-b-b-by Jove, sir! isn’t it beautiful?”
“Are you a musician?”
“No, but I am as fond of it as if I were.”