“It seems to me so brilliant that I hope you will not think me indiscreet if I ask whose hand, more fortunate than mine, has produced this happy result.”
“That of a great Swedish nobleman,” replied Luigia, without hesitation. “Or rather, I should say, as the friend of a lady who took an interest in me, he procured me an engagement at Her Majesty’s Theatre; the kind encouragement of the public has done the rest.”
“Say, rather, your own talent; I was present at the performance this evening.”
Making him a coquettish courtesy, Luigia said,—
“I hope you were satisfied with your humble servant.”
“Your musical powers did not surprise me, for those I knew already; but those transports of dramatic passion, your powerful acting, so sure of itself, did certainly astonish me.”
“It comes from having suffered much,” replied Luigia; “suffering is a great teacher.”
“Suffered? Yes, I know you did, in Italy. But I have liked to feel that after your arrival in France—”
“Always; I have always suffered,” she said in a voice of emotion. “I was not born under a happy star.”
“That ‘always’ seems like a reproach to me,” said Sallenauve, “and yet I do not know what wrong I can have done you.”