She is fair as a lily; and such a
queen-like brow, and deep, gray eyes, full of sadness and soul. I'm
afraid she is not happy. Once or twice she fixed them on me, and they
magnetized me, and drew me to her. So I magnetized her in return. I
should know her anywhere fifty years hence. Now, if I were a man, I
should love that woman and make her love me."
"Then I am very glad you are not a man," said Severne, tenderly.
"So am I," whispered Zoe, and blushed. The curtain rose.
"Listen now, Mr. Chatterbox," said Zoe.
Ned Severne composed himself to listen; but Fraulein Graas had not sung
many bars before he revolted. "Listen to what?" said he; "and look at
what? The only Marguerite in the place is by my side."
Zoe colored with pleasure; but her good sense was not to be blinded. "The
only good black Mephistophe-_less_ you mean," said she. "To be
Marguerite, one must be great, and sweet, and tender; yes, and far more
lovely than ever woman was. That lady is a better color for the part than
I am; but neither she nor I shall ever be Marguerite."
He murmured in her ear. "You are Marguerite, for you could fire a man's
heart so that he would sell his soul to gain you.
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