the curtain was lowered for the last time she picked it up. It was a
bunch of cypress, a symbol of grief and despair.

To add to her distress, she was now conscious that her love for Albert
was a reality, and no answer had come from him or from Count Christian
to the letters she had sent. Twice in the six days at the opera she had
caught a glimpse, so it seemed to her, of Count Albert, but on both
occasions the figure had melted away without a word, and unobserved by
all at the theatre.

No further engagement followed at the opera, and Consuelo's thoughts
turned more and more to the Rudolstadts. If only she could hear from
Christian or his son, she would know whether she was free to devote
herself absolutely to her art. For she had made her promise to Count
Christian that she would send him word should she feel sure of being in
love with Albert; and now that word had been sent, and no reply had
come.

Porpora, with a promise of an engagement at the royal theatre in Berlin,
and anxious to take Consuelo with him, had confessed, in answer to her
objection to leaving Vienna before hearing from Christian, that letters
had come from the Rudolstadts, which he had destroyed.

"The old count was not at all anxious to have a daughter-in-law picked
up behind the scenes," said Porpora, "and so the good Albert sets you at
liberty."

Consuelo never suspected her master of this profound deceit, and, taking
the story he had invented for truth, signed an agreement to go to Berlin
for two months.