turned away in
disgust. It was almost dark in the staircase, and she descended the two
flights slowly, drawing her hand along the wall to steady herself. The
exercise of some caution, to avoid a fall, momentarily cooled her anger
a little, and when she reached the entrance of the house she reflected
that she had perhaps been hasty, and that the Maestro had possibly been
detained by the other musicians, and would come home before long. She
waited some time under the shadow of the archway, though several persons
passed her, some going in, others going out. No one is ever surprised to
see a monk waiting at the door of a large house. The disguised lady
walked slowly up and down, her hood drawn well over her eyes, and her
hands hidden in the slits of the frock.

But when the clocks struck the hour, and it had grown quite dark, she
gave up all hope, and went away, returning in the direction whence she
had come, and revolving plans of vengeance on the ungrateful singer as
she walked.

She could not call him faithless, even in her mortification, for she had
never exchanged a word with him in her life; and if that seems strange
to any who read this story, let them learn something, if they can, of
what constantly happens nowadays to popular operatic tenors. The
disguised lady was of a romantic disposition; she was the respected wife
of a rich citizen, by no means noble; her husband was absent in the
East, and she had foolishly fallen in love with Alessandro Stradella's
voice. She had written him the most silly letters he had ever received,
setting forth the searing passion that devoured her, and apparently
certain that he already shared it and only wanted an opportunity in
order to tell her so. As he never answered her letters, she made up her
mind that he feared her husband, though she had repeatedly assured him
that the latter was absent and had left no Argus-eyed relation in charge
of her and responsible for her acts. She wrote again and again, and even
descended to promising that she would make him a rich man if he would
only take courage and answer her pressing invitation.

Still he did not answer; and at last, despairing of any other means of
moving him, she had written that she would come disguised to his
dwelling on that evening, after the music in the Frari. For she always
knew where he was to sing, and she never missed an opportunity of
hearing him. She had accordingly gone to the church, and before leaving
it she ha