interrupted, or of keeping sinners like you unnecessarily long awake.  There will be no hurry then.  Poor old diavolo! he must have a dull time of it amongst all those heretics.  Perhaps he has a little variety, for they say he has written up on his door, “Ici l’on parle francais,” since Monsieur de Voltaire died.  But I must go on, or you will never be any wiser than you are now, which is not saying overmuch.

I am not going to give you a description of the “Favorita,” which you may hear a dozen times a year at the theatre, for more or less money—­but it is only a franc if you stand; quite enough, too.  I went upon the stage before it began, and peeped through the curtain to see what kind of an audience there was.  It is an old curtain, and there is a hole in it on the right-hand side, which De Pretis says was made by a foreign tenor some years ago between the acts; and Jacovacci, the impresario, tried to make him pay five francs to have it repaired, but did not get the money.  It is a better hole than the one in the middle, which is so far from both sides of the house that you cannot see the people well.  So I looked through, and there, sure enough, in a box very near to the stage, sat the Contessina di Lira and the baroness, whom I had never seen before, but recognised from Nino’s description; and behind them sat the count himself, with his great gray moustaches and a white cravat.  They made me think of the time when I used to go to the theatre myself and sit in a box, and applaud or hiss, just as I pleased.  Dio mio! what changes in this world!

I recognised also a great many of our noble ladies, with jewels and other ornaments, and it seemed to me that some of them were much more beautiful than the German contessina whom Nino had elected to worship, though she was well enough, to be sure, in white silk and white fur, with her little gold cross at her throat.  To think that a statue like that, brought up with all the proprieties, should have such a strange chapter of life!  But my eye began to smart from peering through the little hole, and just then a rough-looking fellow connected with the stage reminded me that, whatever relation I might be to the primo tenore, I was not dressed to appear in the first act; then the audience began to stamp and groan because the performance did not begin, and I went away again to tell Nino that he had a packed house.  I found De Pretis giving him blackberry syrup, which he had brought in a bottle, and entreating him to have courage.  Indeed, it seemed to me that Nino had the more courage of the two; for De Pretis laughed and cried and blew his nose, and took snuff with his great fat fingers, and acted altogether like a poor fool; while Nino sat on a rush-bottomed chair and watched Mariuccia, who was stroking the old cat and nibbling roasted chestnuts, declaring all the while that Nino was the most beautiful object she had ever seen.  Then the bass and the baritone came together and spoke cheering words to Nino, and invited him to supper afterwards; but he thanked them kindly, and told them that he was expected at home, and would go with them after the next performance—­if there ever were a “next.”  He thought he might fail at the last minute.