ssion of some elegant and distinguished man.

But now this paradise had passed into the possession of a charming woman
and admirable artiste. This hotel belonged to the beautiful _Felina_,
the Italian queen of song, who had deigned to descend from a throne to
be the Duchess of Palma. The lofty brow which had borne so proudly the
diadem of Semiramis and Junia, wore now a duchess's coronet. This was a
great self-deprecation; for Europe contained a thousand duchesses, and
but one _Felina_. Worse still, many duchesses would not recognize La
Felina as one of the number. She was a duchess by chance; a duchess not
by the grace of God, but by the grace of talent and beauty. Observe,
too, that this version was the most favorable, the most amiable and
polite. It was the one adopted by the intelligent, philosophic and
sensible duchesses of the empire. The true duchesses, those of other
days, who could not understand how any one could wear a ducal coronet
without having at least three centuries of nobility, made use of all the
grape of their artillery to annihilate the _singing woman_. It was
whispered, but loudly enough to be heard by half a dozen persons, that
La Felina, arming herself with that rigidity she kept for the Duke of
Palma alone, displaying all her charms, and envying the title and
fortune of the noble Neapolitan, had refused to surrender her heart
without her hand;--that the poor Duke, entwined in the nets of this
modern Circe, wearied of the many love-scrapes which he had undergone,
made up his mind, as he could not become a lover, to become a husband.
This delightful theme was so decorated by the rich imaginations of the
ladies of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, that it could scarcely be
recognized beneath the inlaying of the rich anecdotes to which it gave
occasion; but which lacked only three essentials of merit--good sense,
justice, and truth. As far as relates to good sense, we will say that
the Duchess of Palma was far richer than her husband. Her talent had
long procured her a brilliant income; and to renounce the stage, at the
height of her reputation and glory, when every note she uttered was
worth a doubloon, was to reject vast wealth, the source of which was her
voice and talent. Good sense would not justify the reproach of cupidity;
truth and justice would equally have rejected the charge.

_La Felina_, far from wishing to lead the Duke astray--far from wishing,
as was said, to make her fortune by marrying h