“Va! je t’ai pardonné, Tybalt voulait ta mort!”
she sang, with splendid delivery, and Paul answered with his recitative; then together they warbled—
“Nuit d’hyménée, o, douce nuit d’amour!”
Once more the dramatic form of the duo rose before her: Juliette’s departure; Romeo, in his brilliant dress, lying on the cushions at her feet. And it was no longer Paul, but Fabrice, the new baritone, who was the Romeo, and she let her head rest on his shoulder—
“Sous tes baisers de flamme
Le ciel rayonne en moi!”
Paul’s voice was growing very shaky and uncertain, but Eline scarcely heard it. To her imagination it was Fabrice, with his deep voice, who sang; and her song sounded full and ringing, quite forgetful as she was that she entirely eclipsed the tenor.
There—there was the warbling of the lark at daybreak, as in alarm she asked—
“Qu’as tu donc—Roméo?”
“Ecoute, o Juliette!”