which Naples decreed to the greatest artist in
Italy. A report was in circulation, also, which added to this almost
furious admiration. It was said, that she was about to retire for ever,
and that this was her last appearance. The eyes of love have a secret
and admirable instinct, enabling them to see what persons who are
indifferent cannot discover. Among this eager and compact crowd, the
glances of La Felina were immediately attracted to a point of the hall,
to a single box in which Monte-Leone sat. To him Felina acted and sang,
and she was sublime. At the moment when Paer's heroine appeared, a
single voice was heard above all others, and the person who had uttered
it, having exhausted all the powers of his soul, during the whole time
Felina was on the stage, stood with his eyes fixed on her, as if he had
been fascinated by some charm he could not shake off.

"Poor Taddeo," said the Count, when he saw him, "why does she not love
him?"

The first act was concluded by a torrent of bouquets, which the audience
threw at the feet of their favorite actress. The curtain fell. This was
the moment expected by the associate of Monte-Leone. Faithful to his
promise, the Count leaned forward in his box, naturally as possible, and
looked around the brilliant assembly. He then placed his hand on his
heart, and disappeared in the recess of his box. Before, however, he
left, he heard a confused and joyous murmur, which rose from the parquet
to the boxes, and became lost in the arch of the gilded ceiling.

"_They were there_," said Monte-Leone, "and Pignana must be satisfied. I
have done all he asked literally."

A few friends joined the Count in his box.

"Indeed, dear Monte-Leone," said one of these, with whom he was most
intimate, a friend of his childhood, "You have resumed your old habits."

"What do you mean?"

"That, scarcely out of prison, I saw you from my box beginning a new
intrigue by exchanging signs with some fair unknown. This, too, at San
Carlo. This is bold, indeed, unless the hand on your heart is the
resumption of an old intrigue, interrupted, perhaps, by your
imprisonment."

"I do not understand you, Barberini," said the Count, not a little
annoyed. "I made no sign to any one."

"Perhaps so: if you please, I was mistaken. But if I am, it is all the
better; for it proves to me that you no longer adhere to the plans you
once confided to me. I was delighted, too, at what I heard yesterday
evening."

"Of wh