eing jealous of her success, of having hindered it by his
ridiculous behavior, and even of trying to spoil her performance by
acting passionate devotion. The lady was shedding bitter tears over this
catastrophe. She had been hoping, she said, to charm her lover, who was
somewhere in the house, though she had failed to discover him.

Without knowing the peaceful course of daily life in Venice at the
present day, so devoid of incident that a slight altercation between two
lovers, or the transient huskiness of a singer's voice becomes a subject
of discussion, regarded of as much importance as politics in England,
it is impossible to conceive of the excitement in the theatre and at the
Cafe Florian. La Tinti was in love; la Tinti had been hindered in her
performance; Genovese was mad or purposely malignant, inspired by the
artist's jealousy so familiar to Italians! What a mine of matter for
eager discussion!

The whole pit was talking as men talk at the Bourse, and the result was
such a clamor as could not fail to amaze a Frenchman accustomed to the
quiet of the Paris theatres. The boxes were in a ferment like the stir
of swarming bees.

One man alone remained passive in the turmoil. Emilio Memmi, with his
back to the stage and his eyes fixed on Massimilla with a melancholy
expression, seemed to live in her gaze; he had not once looked round at
the prima donna.

"I need not ask you, _caro carino_, what was the result of my
negotiation," said Vendramin to Emilio. "Your pure and pious Massimilla
has been supremely kind--in short, she has been la Tinti?"

The Prince's reply was a shake of his head, full of the deepest
melancholy.

"Your love has not descended from the ethereal spaces where you soar,"
said Vendramin, excited by opium. "It is not yet materialized. This
morning, as every day for six months--you felt flowers opening their
scented cups under the dome of your skull that had expanded to vast
proportions. All your blood moved to your swelling heart that rose to
choke your throat. There, in there,"--and he laid his hand on Emilio's
breast,--"you felt rapturous emotions. Massimilla's voice fell on your
soul in waves of light; her touch released a thousand imprisoned joys
which emerged from the convolutions of your brain to gather about you in
clouds, to waft your etherealized body through the blue air to a purple
glow far above the snowy heights, to where the pure love of angels
dwells. The smile, the kisses of h