“I am delighted to see you,” he said, “but as I did not expect to see you I altered my arrangements, and instead of the dinner I had intended to give I have invited my friends to supper.  I hope you will not refuse me the honour of your company.  The two virtuosi will soon be here.”

We were compelled to accept his invitation.

“Will there be many guests?” I enquired.

“You will find yourselves in the midst of people worthy of you,” he answered, triumphantly.  “I am only sorry that I have not invited any ladies.”

This polite remark, which was intended for Henriette, made her drop him a curtsy, which she accompanied with a smile.  I was pleased to read contentment on her countenance, but, alas! she was concealing the painful anxiety which she felt acutely.  Her noble mind refused to shew any uneasiness, and I could not guess her inmost thoughts because I had no idea that she had anything to fear.

I should have thought and acted differently if I had known all her history.  Instead of remaining in Parma I should have gone with her to London, and I know now that she would have been delighted to go there.

The two artists arrived soon afterwards; they were the ‘primo cantatore’ Laschi, and the ‘prima donna’ Baglioni, then a very pretty woman.  The other guests soon followed; all of them were Frenchmen and Spaniards of a certain age.  No introductions took place, and I read the tact of the witty hunchback in the omission, but as all the guests were men used to the manners of the court, that neglect of etiquette did not prevent them from paying every honour to my lovely friend, who received their compliments with that ease and good breeding which are known only in France, and even there only in the highest society, with the exception, however, of a few French provinces in which the nobility, wrongly called good society, shew rather too openly the haughtiness which is characteristic of that class.

The concert began by a magnificent symphony, after which Laschi and Baglioni sang a duet with great talent and much taste.  They were followed by a pupil of the celebrated Vandini, who played a concerto on the violoncello, and was warmly applauded.

The applause had not yet ceased when Henriette, leaving her seat, went up to the young artist, and told him, with modest confidence, as she took the violoncello from him, that she could bring out the beautiful tone of the instrument still better.  I was struck with amazement.  She took the young man’s seat, placed the violoncello between her knees, and begged the leader of the orchestra to begin the concerto again.  The deepest silence prevailed.  I was trembling all over, and almost fainting.  Fortunately every look was fixed upon Henriette, and nobody thought of me.  Nor was she looking towards me, she would not have then ventured even one glance, for she would have lost courage, if she had raised her beautiful eyes to my face.  However, not seeing her disposing herself to play, I was beginning to imagine that she had only been indulging in a jest, when she suddenly made the strings resound.  My heart was beating with such force that I thought I should drop down dead.