arriage with his son, the tyrannical
old musician at once put his foot down.

"You must not think of the young count!" he said fiercely. "I positively
forbid you! Such a union is not suitable. Count Christian would never
permit you to become an artist again. I know the unconquerable pride of
these nobles, and you cannot hesitate for an instant between the career
of nobility and that of art."

So resolute was Porpora that Consuelo should not be tempted from the
life he had trained her for, that he did not hesitate to destroy,
unread, her letters to the Rudolstadts, and letters from Count Christian
and Albert. He even wrote to Christian himself, declaring that Consuelo
desired nothing but the career of a public singer.

But when, after many disappointments and rebuffs, Consuelo at last was
appointed to take the prima donna's place for six days at the imperial
opera house, she was frightened at the prospect of the toils and
struggles before her feverish arena of the theatre seemed to her a place
of terror and the Castle of the Giants a lost paradise, an abode of
peace and virtue.

Consuelo's triumph at the opera had been indisputable. Her voice was
sweeter and richer than when she sang in Venice, and a perfect storm of
flowers fell upon the stage at the end of the performance. Amid these
perfumed gifts Consuelo saw a green branch fall at her feet, and when
the curtain was lowered for the last time she picked it up. It was a
bunch of cypress, a symbol of grief and despair.

To add to her distress, she was now conscious that her love for Albert
was a reality, and no answer had come from him or from Count Christian
to the letters she had sent. Twice in the six days at the opera she had
caught a glimpse, so it seemed to her, of Count Albert, but on both
occasions the figure had melted away without a word, and unobserved by
all at the theatre.

No further engagement followed at the opera, and Consuelo's thoughts
turned more and more to the Rudolstadts. If only she could hear from
Christian or his son, she would know whether she was free to devote
herself absolutely to her art. For she had made her promise to Count
Christian that she would send him word should she feel sure of being in
love with Albert; and now that word had been sent, and no reply had
come.

Porpora, with a promise of an engagement at the royal theatre in Berlin,
and anxious to take Consuelo with him, had confessed, in answer to her
objection to leavin