“Church! It’s a concert, I tell you—didn’t we have to get tickets and a program? I can’t stand it. I shall lose my temper soon.”
“We’ll go after this if you like, but do keep quiet while we are here.”
“New Year’s night last year was quite different,” said Francesca. “I went to Gesu. They had the Te Deum; it was very beautiful. I knelt beside an old peasant from the Campagna and a young girl; she looked ill—but oh, so pretty! Everybody sang; the old man knew the whole Te Deum by heart. It was very solemn.”
As they made their way slowly down the crowded aisle, the Ave Maria sounded through the church.
“Ave Maria.” Francesca sniffed. “Can’t you hear how indifferent she is to what she sings—exactly like a gramophone? I cannot bear to hear that kind of music ill-treated.”
“Ave Maria,” said a Dane walking beside her—“I remember how beautifully it was sung by a young Norwegian lady—a Miss Eck.”
“Berit Eck. Do you know her, Mr. Hjerrild?”
“She was in Copenhagen two years ago studying under Ellen Beck. I knew her quite well. Do you know her?”
“My sister knew her,” said Francesca. “I think you met my sister Borghild in Berlin. Do you like Miss Eck—or Mrs. Hermann as she is now?”
“She was a very nice girl—and good-looking. Extraordinarily gifted, too, I think.”