y effaced from her memory. Gradually, however,
they arose before her. Had her mother then spoken, had her glances been
diverted from the album on which they were fixed, a strange trouble and
confusion would have been visible, when aroused from this meditation.
The sound of wheels entering the court yard of the villa broke the charm
which entranced Aminta, and made Signora Rovero utter a cry of joy.

"It is he," cried she. "It is he who returns, my son Taddeo. Daughter,
let us hurry to meet him. Let us be the first to embrace him."

Accompanied by Maulear, the two ladies hurried into the vestibule, which
they crossed, standing at the villa-door just as the carriage stopped. A
man left it and bowed respectfully to Signora Rovero and her daughter.
This man was MONTE-LEONE.

IV.--TWO RIVALS.

Much had passed since Count Barberini had told Monte-Leone of the love
of Maulear for Aminta Rovero. Monte-Leone felt all the furies of hell
glide into his heart at this revelation. The idea that Aminta could love
any one had never entered his mind. Whether from confidence in her, or
from that error so common to lovers that they are entitled to love
because they love themselves, Monte-Leone flattered himself that he had
left a pleasant recollection in Aminta's mind. We may therefore imagine
how painfully the Count was disturbed by the half-confidence of
Barberini. Yet Taddeo, his friend, whom, he loved as a brother, could
not have deceived him, and have concealed what had taken place at
Sorrento, when he had received so cordially the hand of his sister.
Taddeo, then, was ignorant of it. Monte-Leone, a prey to a thousand
thoughts, left his box, forgetful of the opera, his friends and
companions, with but one object and wish. He was determined to see
Taddeo, to question him and find out who was the rival that menaced his
happiness, and whom Aminta probably loved. The Count went to that part
of the theatre in which he had seen Aminta. The second act, however, was
about to begin; and the efforts of Monte-Leone to get near his friend
created such murmurs, complaints, and anger, that he was obliged to wait
for a more favorable opportunity. La Griselda was singing the _andante_
of her cavatina, and the artist's magnificent, powerful, and tender
voice, echoing through the vastness of the hall, fell in pearly notes
like a shower of diamonds on the ears of the spectators. After the
_andante_ came the _caballeta_, and then the _coda-finale_.