and bid them to dinner the next day, such civilities as are
expected of grand signors who protect singers, and of fine ladies who
protect tenors and basses. In these cases there is nothing for it but to
marry all the _corps de theatre_.

Cataneo did things handsomely; he was the manager's banker, and this
season was costing him two thousand crowns.

He had had all the palace furnished, had imported a French cook, and
wines of all lands. So the supper was a regal entertainment.

The Prince, seated next la Tinti, was keenly alive, all through the
meal, to what poets in every language call the darts of love. The
transcendental vision of Massimilla was eclipsed, just as the idea
of God is sometimes hidden by clouds of doubt in the consciousness of
solitary thinkers. Clarina thought herself the happiest woman in
the world as she perceived Emilio was in love with her. Confident of
retaining him, her joy was reflected in her features, her beauty was so
dazzling that the men, as they lifted their glasses, could not resist
bowing to her with instinctive admiration.

"The Duchess is not to compare with la Tinti," said the Frenchman,
forgetting his theory under the fire of the Sicilian's eyes.

The tenor ate and drank languidly; he seemed to care only to identify
himself with the prima donna's life, and had lost the hearty sense of
enjoyment which is characteristic of Italian men singers.

"Come, signorina," said the Duke, with an imploring glance at Clarina,
"and you, _caro prima uomo_," he added to Genovese, "unite your voices
in one perfect sound. Let us have the C of _Qual portento_, when light
appears in the oratorio we have just heard, to convince my old friend
Capraja of the superiority of unison to any embellishment."

"I will carry her off from that Prince she is in love with; for she
adores him--it stares me in the face!" said Genovese to himself.

What was the amazement of the guests who had heard Genovese out of
doors, when he began to bray, to coo, mew, squeal, gargle, bellow,
thunder, bark, shriek, even produce sounds which could only be described
as a hoarse rattle,--in short, go through an incomprehensible farce,
while his face was transfigured with rapturous expression like that of
a martyr, as painted by Zurbaran or Murillo, Titian or Raphael. The
general shout of laughter changed to almost tragical gravity when they
saw that Genovese was in utter earnest. La Tinti understood that her
companion was in lo