One evening as the breathless multitude were listening to the soft, high note the songstress had already sustained for several measures, as her eyes suddenly rested on a figure in a box near the stage, it was interrupted by a wild, piercing shriek from the blanched lips of Teresa, who instantly fell senseless.  In a second all was confusion.  The orchestra stopped short in the middle of a note, the curtain was speedily lowered, several ladies fainted, and the audience were in a fever of excitement, each one talking to his neighbor.

“We must be careful of our treasure,” said one, “or we shall lose it.”

“What is the matter?” eagerly asked another.

“That last note was held too long,” suggested a third.

“A touch of the heart complaint I should think,” etc.

When the manager announced that Signorini Zampieri requested the indulgence of a few minutes before resuming her performance, there was a general expostulation, so much had she endeared herself to every heart.  But the manager assured the audience that the lady thanked them for their considerate kindness, but that she was perfectly recovered, and preferred finishing the little that remained of the opera.  When she reappeared, the burning cheek and glittering eye deceived many as to the suffering she endured.  Her gaze restlessly sought the figure that had caused her emotion, and as she met the person’s glance, a shudder passed over her.  At first her voice trembled with weakness, but meeting the mocking, sneering triumph in that sarcastic face, the blood boiled in her veins, and trembling with indignation, she startled the audience with the wild burst of scorn she threw into the part she was representing.  The stranger at first turned pale with anger and surprise at the surpassing delineation, but the next instant his eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction, which seemed to chafe the singer to madness.

At the conclusion of the opera, Teresa, with feverish impatience to arrive at home, was hastily leaving the theatre, when she fancied she saw in the front entrance doorway that Mephistophiles-like face, and ordering the coachman to drive to her lodgings as speedily as possible, threw herself back upon the cushions, and repressed a strong inclination to take a certain individual’s web of life out of the hands of Fate.  In a few minutes she arrived at the hotel, and entering her parlor stood face to face with the stranger, who had risen with the most easy coolness, and advanced to meet her.

“Mille pardons m’amie, for the intrusion, but I have not seen you so long, that I was quite unable to resist the temptation of a call.”

Teresa, overpowered with the most painful emotions, sank into a seat and covered her face with her hands.  With an expression of savage pleasure, her tormentor approached quite near, and said: 

“I beg, my charming friend, that you will not put yourself to the fatigue and trouble of a sentimental reception, for I assure you it will be entirely wasted.”