At eight and a quarter o’clock, the orchestra, consisting of two flutes and a violin, issued from behind the curtain, and seated itself before some music stands ranged against the wall.  The performers were amateurs (two bookkeepers, and a cashier in private life), and could not have been hired to play for any amount of money, though they were always willing to favor a few friends.  Mrs. Slapman humored them in this whim, and they played regularly at her private theatricals.

After a few nods and facetious remarks to their friends in the audience (familiarities from which a paid orchestra would have been totally cut off), the musicians dashed into a new overture, composed by Signor Mancussi, also “expressly for the occasion.”

This musical composition had been rehearsed the week previous in the presence of a select party of amateurs and critics, and had been pronounced, by the sub-editor of a weekly paper, “remarkable for its breadth and color.”  Under these circumstances, the overture was listened to with much interest at first, which abated as the music progressed.  Touching the merits of “color” and “breadth” there might be some grounds of doubt, but none whatever concerning its “length.”

It lasted until twenty minutes of nine; and, toward the close, faint scrapings of dissatisfaction were heard, which would have been more audible had Signor Mancussi not been present.  As the last twang of the fiddle died on the air, M. Bartin was heard by several persons to say, “Bah! a bad hash from Rossini and Auber.”  The remark was reported to Signor Mancussi, and did not tend to enhance his friendly regards for the other gentleman.

CHAPTER II.

CURTAIN UP.

At eight and three quarters P.M. the curtain was rung up, and discovered a rustic scene, in the midst of which Mrs. Slapman (Fidelia) was seated.  She was dressed in a white frock with low neck, and a flat hat, and was trimmed out with red ribbons in all directions.  She looked young and pretty.  Only an anxious knitting of her eyebrows revealed the cares and troubles of intellect.  Mrs. Slapman was applauded by a unanimous clapping of hands.  She was seated in a red-velvet rocking chair, at a small but costly table, on which stood an expensive vase filled with flowers.  These properties, though few, were intended to signify boundless affluence and luxury.  Fidelia languidly waved a jewelled fan, and sighed.  “Will he never come?” said she.

She had hardly made this remark, when, by a singular coincidence, Alberto (Overtop) entered from the left wing, and threw himself, with as much grace as his tights would permit, at her feet.  She emitted a small shriek, and gave him her hand to kiss, which he did with ecstasy.  Alberto was habited like an Italian gentleman in good circumstances; and no one would have suspected his poverty, if he had not commenced the dialogue by an affecting allusion to his last scudi, which brought tears to the eyes of the fair Fidelia.