the Thames. Entering a boat, however, he reached the vessel, went
on board, and gave the money to the _émigré_, whose expressions of
gratitude amply repaid the trouble of the kind-hearted basso. Another
time Malibran aided a poor Italian who was destitute, telling him to say
nothing about it. "Ah, madame," he cried, "you have saved me for ever!"
"Hush!" she interrupted; "do not say that; only the Almighty could do
so. Pray to him."

The feverish activity of Mme. Malibran was shown at this time in a
profusion of labors and an ardor in amusement which alarmed all her
friends. When not engaged in opera, she was incessant in concert-giving,
for which her terms were eighty guineas per night. She would fly to
Calais and sing there, hurry back to England, thence hasten to Brussels,
where she would give a concert, and then cross the Channel again, giving
herself no rest. Night after night she would dance and sing at private
parties till dawn, and thus waste the precious candle of her life at
both ends. She was haunted by a fancy that, when she ceased to live
thus, she would suddenly die, for she was full of the superstition
of her Spanish race. Mme. Malibran about this time essayed the same
experiment which Pasta had tried, that of singing the rôle of the Moor
in "Otello." It was not very successful, though she sang the music and
acted the part with fire. The delicate figure of a woman was not fitted
for the strong and masculine personality of the Moorish warrior, and
the charm of her expression was completely veiled by the swarthy mask
of paint. Her versatility was so daring that she wished even to out-leap
the limits of nature.

The great _diva's_ horizon (since Sontag's retirement from the stage she
had been acknowledged the leading singer of the age) was now destined to
be clouded by a portentous event. M. Malibran arrived in Paris. He had