But the
Marchese remained quiet in his corner, with his face half-shaded by
his hand, conscious as he was that the expression of it might need
hiding from the others in the box. He need not have heeded them; for
their attention was too exclusively occupied with the stage for them
to expend any of it on him. Had it been otherwise his hand, covering
the lower half of his face, would not have sufficed to conceal his
emotion.
Now again the hot fit of his love was in the ascendant. Never had
Bianca more thoroughly captivated him. Never had it seemed to him
less possible to live without her. What to him were all these dull
and empty blockheads for whom be had hitherto lived, and who were
now--the foul fiend seize them!--sharing with him the delight of
seeing and hearing her for the last time. Yes, it should be for the
last time. He would make her his, all his own; and carry her far
away from all that could remind either her or himself of their past
lives. And then a scowl of displeasure came over his face as his
glance lighted on his nephew's noisy and unrestrained manifestations
of enthusiastic admiration.
Presently, towards the end of the first act, came the duet between
Amina and her lover, who has been made causelessly jealous, and
Bianca sang the pretty lines--
"Son, mio bene, del zeffiro amante,
Perche ad esso il tuo nome confido.
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