“Yes. It was like life. Did you observe how he made little calculations for himself while she told him the story?”
“Yes, and one could see it all agreed with what he knew.”
“He was like your father reading his friend’s letter. The cap fitted him and he put it on.”
“Bravo, Buffo!”
“And when he made as though he would stroke her hair and drew back because he was not yet sure—oh, it was beautiful! But there was one thing I did not quite understand. Why did the cavaliere fall dead?”
“Because the father shot him,” I replied.
“He aimed in the other direction.”
“I also noticed that the old man fired to the right and the cavaliere fell on his left, but that was only because of a little defect of stage management. It does not do to be fastidious. You must not forget that they are doing the play as Snug the joiner did Lion, it has never been written. It will go more smoothly next time.”
“Thank you. You see, I am not a regular theatre-goer. There is another thing that puzzled me. You remember the bad old woman in the first act who was shot? Should you think I was being too fastidious if I asked you why she rose from the dead and led Rosina kindly away in the second act? No doubt it will be explained presently, but, in the meantime, if you—”
“She did not rise from the dead; it was a different woman.”