For a while
one might have thought the four thousand spectators had but one breath,
and were animated by a single heart, that they restrained the first to
prevent the pulsations of the other from being disturbed. This gem of
the opera was at last concluded, and mad applause rose from every part
of the room. We are constrained, however, to say, that from this time
the accents of La Felina were less passionate and brilliant, and that a
veil, as it were, was extended over all the rest of the representation,
so that a person who had heard only the second act of La Griselda would
have asked with surprise, if it was really the wonderful prima donna,
the songs of whom were purchased with gold, and the wonderful talent of
whom, had enslaved the audiences of the great Italian theatres. The
reason was, that, after the second act, the star which shone on La
Felina had become eclipsed. Monte-Leone had left his box--the box which
had been the source of Griselda's inspiration from the commencement of
the first act. Hope had sustained the singer during the cavatina, at the
beginning of the second act. She fancied that he whom she loved possibly
heard her from the recess of some other box. When, however, she was
satisfied that he was gone, despair took possession of her. "Nothing
touches his heart," said she, with pain. "Neither my love nor my talent
are able to captivate him--to attach him to me for a time." Thenceforth,
as she sang for him alone, she sang for no one. The holy fire was
extinguished. Genius unfurled its wings and flew to the unknown regions
of art, whence passion had won it. La Felina finished the opera, as a
prima donna should, rendering the music precisely and distinctly, note
for note, and as her score required. She neither added a single
_fioritura_ nor a single ornament which had not been noted by the
composer. In one word, the audience at San Carlo on that day heard the
opera of the _Maestro_ Paer and not La Felina. During this, Monte-Leone,
who had given up all hopes of reaching Taddeo, and whom Taddeo, paying
attention only to the _artiste_, had neither heard nor seen, Monte-Leone
walked in front of the opera-house, a prey to the greatest agitation,
impatiently waiting for the conclusion of the representation, to see his
friend and hear from him what he had to hope or fear at Sorrento.

The opera ended. The crowd slowly dispersed, and Monte-Leone, wrapped up
in his cloak, watched with anxiety every spectator wh