Her mother was a dancer.'
And immediately, with her lip a little curling, a look of complete
self-possession, willing to be admired, yet not caring to conceal her
disgust, the little Carlotta advanced, and, after pointing her toe,
threw a glance at her father to announce that he might begin. He played
with more care and energy than for the other sisters, for Carlotta was
exceedingly wilful and imperious, and, if the music jarred, would often
stop, shrug her shoulders, and refuse to proceed. Her mother doted
on her; even the austere Baroni, who ruled his children like a Pasha,
though he loved them, was a little afraid of Carlotta.
The boards were coarse and rough, some even not sufficiently tightened,
but it seemed to Sidonia, experienced as he was in the schools of Paris,
London, and Milan, that he had never witnessed a more brilliant facility
than that now displayed by this little girl. Her soul, too, was entirely
in her art; her countenance generally serious and full of thought,
yet occasionally, when a fine passage had been successfully achieved,
radiant with triumph and delight. She was cheered, and cheered,
and cheered; but treated the applause, when she retired, with great
indifference. Fortunately, Sidonia had a rose in his button-hole, and
he stepped forward and presented it to her.
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