I inquired as I entered the theatre.

"_Valentine's_ death scene," replied my friend.

"_Valentine_ does not die, my dear fellow; _Valentine_ only faints," I
answered, I was thinking of course, of the new dramatic soprano, Mlle.
SANDRA, in _Les Huguenots_.

"You are evidently not an Opera-goer," I continued, "or you would know
that no one dies in this work, except, of course, in the last Act. But
that is always left out."

"Wrong again!" exclaimed JONES, with an amused look. "AUGUSTUS HARRIS
restores the last Act. See his prospectus."

"Well, never mind that. Is _Ella Russell_ singing the part of _Queen
Margaret_ as well as ever?"

"I did not know that _Margaret_ was a Queen. I always thought she was of
humble origin. The part in any case is being played by Mlle. NORDICA."

Determined to be no longer the victim of mystification, I wished JONES
good-bye, and hurrying in, found the curtain down. Afraid now to ask
what was being played, I waited patiently for the next Act, and when at
last the curtain went up, I found to my astonishment that some
representation entirely new to me was taking place. Will-o'-the-Wisps on
a dark back-ground. That was all I saw. I asked myself whether I had
gone mad, or whether the Drury Lane Pantomime was being played a little
earlier than usual. Then the dark scene gave place to a scene of great
brilliancy. There was a throne at the back of the stage, and again my
thoughts reverted to the _Huguenots_, and I fancied I could recognise
_Queen Margaret_. But her features were not the features of ELLA
RUSSELL. Besides, ELLA RUSSELL does not dance, not at least on the
Operatic stage; and this lady did.

"This is HELEN," said a gentleman in a stall on my right to a lady by
his side. Here was at least a clue; and when at the same moment the
baritone DE RESZKE stepped out of a group attired in the garb of
_Mephistopheles_, I said to myself that the performance had been
changed, and this was the last Act of BOITO'S _Mefistofele_, with new
details, or at least details that I had not noticed when the work was
performed at Her Majesty's Theatre and at Covent Garden. Now dancing
began in earnest, and I wondered much at the never-failing ingenuity of
Mr. AUGUSTUS HARRIS, who with a score of first-rate singers in his
Company, had nevertheless found himself compelled (probably at five
minutes' notice,) to change an Opera into a _ballet_. It reminded me of
a certain operatic Manager, who, being sudde