The fourth act commenced, and Eline felt much interested in the moonlit garden scene, in Manoël’s cavatina, in his duet with Xaïma, and in the trio with Hermosa; but her interest grew when the Moorish monarch appeared at the gates of his palace, and commanded his guard to seize Manoël, whilst, deaf to his entreaties, he dragged Xaïma away with him, in a sudden burst of passion. The last scene in the opera, where Ben-Saïd is murdered by the mother, who comes to her child’s rescue, affected her much more than she would have cared to confess. In his scenas with the two female characters, the new baritone played with an amount of fire and power which lent the melodrama a glow of poetic truth, and when, fatally wounded, he sank down on the steps of the pavilion, Eline fixed her glasses, and gazed at his dark face, with the black beard and drooping eyes.
The curtain fell, but the four actors were re-called, and Eline saw him once more, bowing to the audience with a calm, indifferent expression, in strong contrast to the beaming smiles of the tenor, the contralto, and the soprano.
The audience rose, the doors of the boxes opened. Georges assisted the ladies with their wraps, and they proceeded through the corridor, and down the steps, until they reached the glass doors, where they waited until their carriage was announced.
“I shouldn’t think that the Tribut is one of Gounod’s best operas; do you, Eline?” asked Emilie, when they were in their carriage. “It is not to be compared with Faust or Romeo and Juliette.” [[46]]
“I don’t think so either,” Eline answered cautiously, afraid to show how much she was affected; “but it is so difficult to judge music on hearing it for the first time. I thought some of the melodies very pretty. But then, you must bear in mind that we only saw half of it.”
“Yes; it’s very nice just to go and see a couple of acts; but to have to sit out a whole opera I think an awful bore, I must admit,” said Betsy yawning.
And Georges hummed the refrain—
“Debout, enfants d’Ibérie.”
The de Woudes were taken home first to the Noordeinde, and Betsy and Eline rode on, snugly ensconced in the satin cushions of the landau, to the Nassauplein. They spoke a little about Vincent, and then both were silent, and Eline let her mind wander musingly to the waltz in Mireille, to her dispute with Betsy that morning, to the group of the Five Senses, to Madame van Raat and de Woude, to her pink dress, and Ben-Saïd.