“Eh!—What?”
“Nothing—only a remark on my part. A fine opera, Le Prophète.”
“Yes—so they say!”
“How—they say? Have you never heard it?”
“I!—I have other things to do. I get through my scenes, and that’s enough.”
“But have you not even read the words?”
“I have read my part,—and even that is too much. However, I think I will read it over one evening when I am going to bed, because I want to know who on earth this Prophet is.”
Yet it was this very part of the Prophet which he had just enacted for the sixth time!
He then told me that he had been engaged to sing in Thomas’s Omeleto—I should not have been surprised had he said omelette—and left, after telling me that he put up at the Gran Bretagna, and requesting me to come and see him there.
At the door he turned back, and said—