Part 12 (2/2)
The young people started on their packing at once, Marie in particular was busily occupied in completing her wardrobe. A new travelling-dress was ordered, and various purchases made.
”Don't you think it would be better to wait until we have heard the decision of the authorities,” suggested Holm.
”Oh, but I shall hear from Mrs. Rantzau to-morrow,” said Marie. ”And it doesn't really matter, does it, if you don't get the answer till after I've gone?”
”H'm, I think I'd rather have it settled first, if it's all the same to you.”
A week pa.s.sed, however, and every day Marie had to try over again with Mrs. Rantzau; strange how particular she was now!
William had sent off his picture to Copenhagen, and was all anxiety to learn what had been said about it. The dealer had been instructed to send him press cuttings as soon as they appeared.
On Sat.u.r.day morning, when Holm went up into the drawing-room, he found the pair very subdued. William was in the smoking-room, which was in darkness, looking out of the window, and Marie lay on the sofa in tears.
On the table lay an open letter from Mrs. Rantzau, as follows:
”MY DEAR MISS HOLM,--I have for the past week carefully and conscientiously tested your voice in order to give my verdict without hesitation as to your chances of making a career as a singer.
”I regret that as a result I can only advise you most seriously to relinquish the idea.
”You have certainly a pleasing voice, but its compa.s.s is only slight, and would never be sufficiently powerful for concert work.
”By all means continue your training, you will find it worth while, and your voice might be a source of pleasure to your home circle and friends. I am sure you will be a thousand times happier in that way than in entering upon a career which could only lead to disappointment.--Sincerely yours,
”EMILIE RANTZAU.”
Holm read the letter, and went over to Marie.
”Don't cry, my child; you shall go to Paris all right, but we'll go together this time, for a holiday.”
”Oh, I'm so miserable--hu, hu!”
”It won't be for long.” And Holm sat comforting her as well as he could, until at last she went out of her own accord to lay the table for supper--a thing she had not troubled to do for a long time.
”Aha,” thought Holm, ”things are looking up a bit.”
It was not a particularly cheerful meal, however, and William went off to his own room as soon as it was over.
A few days later a bundle of newspapers arrived by post from Copenhagen. William took the parcel with a trembling hand, and hurried off to his room to read them.
Not a word about ”Rebecca and the Camels,” beyond the dealer's advertis.e.m.e.nt of the exhibition. Ah, yes, here was something at last.
And he read through the following, from one of the morning papers:
”NORWEGIAN CAMELS”
”A decidedly humorous work of art has been on exhibition here the last few days.
”We have rarely seen visitors to the gallery so amused as were the groups that gathered before the large-sized canvas indicated as representing 'Rebecca and the Camels.'
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