CHAPTER VII.

Madame von Cocceji.

The Marquis d’Argens was right.  Barbarina and her sister had left England and returned to Berlin.  They occupied the same expensive and beautiful hotel in Behren Street; but it was no longer surrounded by costly equipages, and besieged by gallant cavaliers.  The elite of the court no longer came to wonder and to worship.

Barbarina’s house was lonely and deserted, and she herself was changed.  She was no longer the graceful, enchanting prima donna, the floating sylph; she was a calm, proud woman, almost imposing in her grave, pale beauty; her melancholy smile touched the heart, while it contrasted strangely with her flashing eye.

Barbarina was in the same saloon where we last saw her, surrounded with dukes and princes—­worshippers at her shrine!  To-day she was alone; no one was by her side but her faithful sister Marietta.  She lay stretched upon the divan, with her arms folded across her bosom; her head was thrown back upon the white, gold-embroidered cushion, and her long, black curls fell in rich profusion around her; with wide-open eyes she stared upon the ceiling, completely lost in sad and painful thoughts.  At a small table by her side sat her sister Marietta, busily occupied in opening and reading the letters with which the table was covered.

And now she uttered a cry of joy, and a happy smile played upon her face.  “A letter from Milan, from the impressario, Bintelli,” said she.

Barbarina remained immovable, and still stared at the ceiling.

“Binatelli offers you a magnificent engagement; he declares that all Italy languishes with impatience to see you. that every city implores your presence, and he is ambitious to be the first to allure you back to your fatherland.”

“Did you write to him that I desired an engagement?” said Barbarina.

“No, sister,” said Marietta, slightly blushing; “I wrote to him as to an old and valued friend; I described the restless, weary, nomadic life we were leading, and told him you had left the London stage forever.”

“And does it follow that I will therefore appear in Milan?  Write at once that I am grateful for his offer, but neither in Milan nor any other Italian city will I appear upon the stage.”

“Ah, Barbarina, will we never again return to our beautiful Italy?” said Marietta, tearfully.

“Did I say that, sister?  I said only, I would not appear in public.”

“But, Barbarina, he entreats so earnestly, and he offers you an enormous salary!”

“I am rich enough, Marietta.”

“No! no one is rich enough!  Money is power, and the more millions one has to spend, the more is one beloved.”

“What care I for the love of men?  I despise them all—­all!” cried Barbarina, passionately.

“What! all?” said Marietta, with a meaning smile; “all—­even Cocceji?”