“Let’s go, Jenny. You don’t think this gives you any sort of real Christmas feeling, do you? It’s like an ordinary concert, and a bad one at that. Listen to that man singing now—absolutely no expression. His voice is absolutely done. Ugh!”
“Hush, Cesca! Remember you are in church.”
“Church! It’s a concert, I tell you—didn’t we have to get tickets and a program? I can’t stand it. I shall lose my temper soon.”
“We’ll go after this if you like, but do keep quiet while we are here.”
“New Year’s night last year was quite different,” said Francesca. “I went to Gesu. They had the Te Deum; it was very beautiful. I knelt beside an old peasant from the Campagna and a young girl; she looked ill—but oh, so pretty! Everybody sang; the old man knew the whole Te Deum by heart. It was very solemn.”
As they made their way slowly down the crowded aisle, the Ave Maria sounded through the church.
“Ave Maria.” Francesca sniffed. “Can’t you hear how indifferent she is to what she sings—exactly like a gramophone? I cannot bear to hear that kind of music ill-treated.”
“Ave Maria,” said a Dane walking beside her—“I remember how beautifully it was sung by a young Norwegian lady—a Miss Eck.”
“Berit Eck. Do you know her, Mr. Hjerrild?”
“She was in Copenhagen two years ago studying under Ellen Beck. I knew her quite well. Do you know her?”
“My sister knew her,” said Francesca. “I think you met my sister Borghild in Berlin. Do you like Miss Eck—or Mrs. Hermann as she is now?”
“She was a very nice girl—and good-looking. Extraordinarily gifted, too, I think.”
Heggen, Ahlin, and Gram were to accompany the ladies home and have supper. Francesca had got a big parcel from home, and the table was laid with Norwegian Christmas fare, decorated with daisies from the Campagna and candles in seven-branched candlesticks.
Francesca came in last and brought the Dane with her.
“Wasn’t it nice, Jenny, of Mr. Hjerrild to come too?”
There were butter and cheese, cold game and brawn and ham on the table, as well as drinks for the men. Francesca sat by Hjerrild, and when the conversation became more animated and general she turned to speak to him.
“Do you know the pianist, Mr. Hermann, who married Miss Eck?”
“Yes; I know him very well. I lived at the same boarding-house with him in Copenhagen, and I saw him in Berlin on my way here.”