It is a beautiful life, but a reckless one, and in no country in the world are men so often found worn out.

The Duchess’ box was on the pit tier—­pepiano, as it is called in Venice; she always sat where the light from the stage fell on her face, so that her handsome head, softly illuminated, stood out against the dark background.  The Florentine attracted every gaze by her broad, high brow, as white as snow, crowned with plaits of black hair that gave her a really royal look; by the refinement of her features, resembling the noble features of Andrea del Sarto’s heads; by the outline of her face, the setting of her eyes; and by those velvet eyes themselves, which spoke of the rapture of a woman dreaming of happiness, still pure though loving, at once attractive and dignified.

Instead of Mose, in which la Tinti was to have appeared with Genovese, Il Barbiere was given, and the tenor was to sing without the celebrated prima donna.  The manager announced that he had been obliged to change the opera in consequence of la Tinti’s being ill; and the Duke was not to be seen in the theatre.

Was this a clever trick on the part of the management, to secure two full houses by bringing out Genovese and Tinti separately, or was Clarina’s indisposition genuine?  While this was open to discussion by others, Emilio might be better informed; and though the announcement caused him some remorse, as he remembered the singer’s beauty and vehemence, her absence and the Duke’s put both the Prince and the Duchess very much at their ease.

And Genovese sang in such a way as to drive out all memories of a night of illicit love, and to prolong the heavenly joys of this blissful day.  Happy to be alone to receive the applause of the house, the tenor did his best with the powers which have since achieved European fame.  Genovese, then but three-and-twenty, born at Bergamo, a pupil of Veluti’s and devoted to his art, a fine man, good-looking, clever in apprehending the spirit of a part, was already developing into the great artist destined to win fame and fortune.  He had a wild success,—­a phrase which is literally exact only in Italy, where the applause of the house is absolutely frenzied when a singer procures it enjoyment.

Some of the Prince’s friends came to congratulate him on coming into his title, and to discuss the news.  Only last evening la Tinti, taken by the Duke to the Vulpatos’, had sung there, apparently in health as sound as her voice was fine; hence her sudden disposition gave rise to much comment.  It was rumored at the Cafe Florian that Genovese was desperately in love with Clarina; that she was only anxious to avoid his declarations, and that the manager had tried in vain to induce her to appear with him.  The Austrian General, on the other hand, asserted that it was the Duke who was ill, that the prima donna was nursing him, and that Genovese had been commanded to make amends to the public.