Arafrantz interrupted his friend's conversation with the Countess to inquire about the beautiful arachnid.
"All I know," replied the Countess, "is that she attends every performance, sometimes accompanied by the man who is with her now, sometimes by a simple, if fishy, domestic."
"How do you find her, Countess?"
"Extremely beautiful. Mordora, the heroine of Il corsaro di Umbar, must have resembled that woman."
Arafrantz smiled, and resumed his examination of the lovely arachnid, whose attention was focused on the ballet Lobeliska – one of those ballets where every performer takes such an active part that a hundred and fifty persons at once make the same gesture and raise together the same pointed ear or wing. The lady took a visible delight in the spectacle, in contrast to the profound insouciance of her companion, who – despite the discord of Melcoeur that rose in uproar in a war of sound in which music was lost, loud, vain, and endlessly repeated, and in every respect forming a perfect accompaniment to the movement of the dancers – appeared to taste the celestial sweetness of a peaceful and radiant sleep, from which he only awakened during the prelude to the second act.
