’It is a question whether we ought to sit still and see a firebrand flashed in our faces,’ General Pierson remarked as the curtain fell.  He was talking to Major de Pyrmont outside the Duchess of Graatli’s box.  Two General officers joined them, and presently Count Serabiglione, with his courtly semi-ironical smile, on whom they straightway turned their backs.  The insult was happily unseen, and the count caressed his shaven chin and smiled himself onward.  The point for the officers to decide was, whether they dared offend an enthusiastic house—­the fiery core of the population of Milan—­by putting a stop to the opera before worse should come.

Their own views were entirely military; but they were paralyzed by the recent pseudo-liberalistic despatches from Vienna; and agreed, with some malice in their shrugs, that the odium might as well be left on the shoulders of the bureau which had examined the libretto.  In fact, they saw that there would be rank peril in attempting to arrest the course of things within the walls of the house.

‘The temper this people is changeing oddly,’ said General Pierson.  Major de Pyrmont listened awhile to what they had to say, and returned to the duchess.  Amalia wrote these lines to Laura:—­

’If she sings that song she is to be seized on the wings of the stage.  I order my carriage to be in readiness to take her whither she should have gone last night.  Do you contrive only her escape from the house.  Georges de P. will aid you.  I adore the naughty rebel!’

Major de Pyrmont delivered the missive at Laura’s box.  He went down to the duchess’s chasseur, and gave him certain commands and money for a journey.  Looking about, he beheld Wilfrid, who implored him to take his place for two minutes.  De Pyrmont laughed.  ’She is superb, my friend.  Come up with me.  I am going behind the scenes.  The unfortunate impresario is a ruined man; let us both condole with him.  It is possible that he has children, and children like bread.’

Wilfrid was linking his arm to De Pyrmont’s, when, with a vivid recollection of old times, he glanced at his uniform with Vittoria’s eyes.  ‘She would spit at me!’ he muttered, and dropped behind.

Up in her room Vittoria held council with Rocco, Agostino, and the impresario, Salvolo, who was partly their dupe.  Salvolo had laid a freshly-written injunction from General Pierson before her, bidding him to exclude the chief solo parts from the Third Act, and to bring it speedily to a termination.  His case was, that he had been ready to forfeit much if a rising followed; but that simply to beard the authorities was madness.  He stated his case by no means as a pleader, although the impression made on him by the prima donna’s success caused his urgency to be civil.

‘Strike out what you please,’ said Vittoria.

Agostino smote her with a forefinger.  ’Rogue! you deserve an imperial crown.  You have been educated for monarchy.  You are ready enough to dispense with what you don’t care for, and what is not your own.’