Leon was a brave man, and I fear he was somewhat
sceptically given (he had been educated in a Papistical country),
but the habit of childhood prevailed, and he crossed himself
devoutly. He had met several women in his career. It was obvious
that his instinct had not deceived him, for the male voice broke
forth instantly in a towering passion.
The undergraduate, who had not understood the significance of the
woman's contribution, pricked up his ears at the change upon the
man.
"There's going to be a free fight," he opined.
There was another retort from the woman, still calm but a little
higher.
"Hysterics?" asked Leon of his wife. "Is that the stage
direction?"
"How should I know?" returned Elvira, somewhat tartly.
"Oh, woman, woman!" said Leon, beginning to open the guitar-case.
"It is one of the burdens of my life, Monsieur Stubbs; they support
each other; they always pretend there is no system; they say it's
nature. Even Madame Berthelini, who is a dramatic artist!"
"You are heartless, Leon," said Elvira; "that woman is in trouble."
"And the man, my angel?" inquired Berthelini, passing the ribbon of
his guitar. "And the man, M'AMOUR?"
"He is a man," she answered.
"You hear that?" said Leon to Stubbs. "It is not too late for you.
Mark the intonation. And now," he continued, "what are we to give
them?"
"Are you going to sing?" asked Stubbs.
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