this woman of the stage had lost all the boldness that had sparkled in
her eyes and given decision to her voice and gestures when she
dismissed the Duke. She was as humble as a courtesan who has fallen in
love.

To picture la Tinti you must recall one of our best French singers
when she came out in _Il Fazzoletto_, an opera by Garcia that was then
being played by an Italian company at the theatre in the Rue Lauvois.
She was so beautiful that a Naples guardsman, having failed to win a
hearing, killed himself in despair. The prima donna of the _Fenice_
had the same refinement of features, the same elegant figure, and was
equally young; but she had in addition the warm blood of Sicily that
gave a glow to her loveliness. Her voice was fuller and richer, and
she had that air of native majesty that is characteristic of Italian
women.

La Tinti--whose name also resembled that which the French singer
assumed--was now seventeen, and the poor Prince three-and-twenty. What
mocking hand had thought it sport to bring the match so near the
powder? A fragrant room hung with rose-colored silk and brilliant with
wax lights, a bed dressed in lace, a silent palace, and Venice! Two
young and beautiful creatures! every ravishment at once.

Emilio snatched up his trousers, jumped out of bed, escaped into the
dressing-room, put on his clothes, came back and hurried to the door.

These were his thoughts while dressing:--

"Massimilla, beloved daughter of the Doni, in whom Italian beauty is
an hereditary prerogative, you who are worthy of the portrait of