Page:The Tattooed Countess (1924).pdf/234

 I did not know, she went on, that I could be so contented.

Gareth was salting his egg. He regarded the Countess closely. He was bursting with questions. There was so'much that he wanted to know.

Tell me, he selected as a beginning, what was the most wonderful night you ever spent in the theatre?

She pondered. Let me see. . . I haven't thought about the theatre for such a long time. . . I've been so much. Perhaps the premiere of Sibyl Sanderson in Esclarmonde. That was in '89 during the Paris exposition. I love the music of Massenet. He is, I believe, my favourite composer. What graceful and refined melodies he creates! How they lift one, too! He is a master of sentiment; he has the keys to the heart of any woman who loves music. Do you know the Meditation from Thaïs?

Gareth shook his head.

She began to hum it. That was a night: she reverted to Esclarmonde. Sanderson was new to Paris; the opera was a novelty. What a brilliant house! She ran over some of the names. . . . Or perhaps one night when Marie Van Zandt sang Lakmé. You see, in 1894, she broke down on the stage during a performance of The Barber of Seville. The audience, believing her to be intoxicated, hissed her. The next season she returned to the Opera-Comique to sing Lakmé, a rôle she had created in 1883. When she first stepped on the