“We were only commanded to inquire after the health of the signora,” said Algarotti, coolly.

“And as you have assured us that you have passed the night in tears and repentance, this confession may perhaps ameliorate his majesty’s sufferings,” said Rothenberg.

Barbarina looked amazed from one to the other.  Suddenly her cheeks became crimson, and her eyes flashed with passion.  “You did not come to conduct me to the king?” said she, breathlessly.

“No, signora, the king did not give us this commission.”

“Ah! he demands, then, that I shall come voluntarily?  Well, then, I will go uncalled.  Lead me to his majesty!”

“That is a request which I regret I cannot fulfil.  The king has sternly commanded us to admit no one.”

“No one?”

“No one, without exception, signora,” said Algarotti, bowing profoundly.

Barbarina pressed her lips together to restrain a cry of anguish.  She pressed her hands upon the table to sustain her sinking form.  “You have only come to say that the king will not receive me; that to-day, as yesterday, his doors are closed against me.  Well, then, gentlemen, you have fulfilled your duty.  Go and say to his majesty I shall respect his wishes—­go, sirs!”

Barbarina remained proudly erect, and replied to their greeting with a derisive smile.  With her hands pressed nervously on the table, she looked after the two cavaliers as they left her saloon, with wide-extended, tearless eyes.  But when the door closed upon them, when sure she could not be heard by them, she uttered so wild, so piercing a cry of anguish, that Marietta rushed into the room.  Barbarina had sunk, as if struck by lightning, to the floor.

“I am dishonored, betrayed, spurned,” cried she, madly.  “O God! let me not outlive this shame—­send death to my relief!”

Soon, however, her cries of despair were changed to words of scorn and bitterness.  She no longer wished to die—­she wished to revenge herself.  She rose from her knees, and paced the room hastily, raging, flashing, filled with a burning thirst for vengeance, resolved to cast a veil over her shame, and hide it, at least, from the eyes of the world.

“Marietta, O Marietta!” cried she, breathlessly, “help me to find the means quickly, by one blow to satisfy my vengeance!—­a means which will prove to the king that I am not, as be supposes, dying from grief and despair; that I am still the Barbarina—­the adored, triumphant, all-conquering artiste—­a means which will convince the whole world that I am not deserted, scorned, but that I myself am the inconstant one.  Oh, where shall I find the means to rise triumphantly from this humiliation? where—­”

“Silence, silence, sister! some one is coming.  Let no one witness your agitation.”

The servant entered and announced that Baron von Swartz, director of the theatre, wished to know if the signora would appear in the ballet of the evening.