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370 AN EVENING WITH RACHEL. Sarah went to bed. Rachel rose and left the room, returning in a moment carrying the volume of Racine in her hands, with something in her air and step which seemed to the poet to savor of the solemn and religious. It was the manner of a celebrant approaching the altar bearing the sacred vessels. She took a seat next He Mus- set, and snuffed the candles. Her mother fell into a doze. Rachel (openiyig the book in a manner expressive of pro- found respect, and lending over it) — How I love this man ! When I put my nose into this book, I could remain two days without eating or drinking. The poet and the actress then began to read that " PhMre " which French critics, from Voltaire to Sainte Beuve, unite in thinking the supreme product of the French drama. The book lay open between them. The rest of the company, one after the other, took their leave, Rachel nodding a slight farewell as each withdrew, and continuing to read. At first she repeated the lines in a monotonous tone, as though she was saying a litany. Gradually she kindled. They exchanged remarks and ideas upon each passage. She came at last to the dec- laration. She extended one arm straight upon the table, and with her forehead leaning upon her left hand she abandoned herself entirely to the reading. Nevertheless, she still spoke only in half voice. Suddenly her eyes sparkled. The genius of Racine lighted up her counte- nance. She grew pale and red by turns. Never had her companion seen anything so beautiful, so moving ; at the theater she had never produced such an effect upon him. All the circumstances concurred to deepen the impres- sion ; her fatigue, a slight hoarseness, the evident stimu- lus of the punch, the lateness of the hour, the almost feverish animation , of that little face with the pretty night cap over it, the brilliancy of her eyes, a certain infantile smilo which occasionally flitted across her counte-