"
"What parcel of nonsense have you got into your little brains,
Paolina? Sing at the Marchese? Of course they all do; of course they
all know that his suffrage is of more importance to them than all
the rest of the theatre put together. But as for my idea of--lo zio-
-of all men in the world. Ha, ha, ha! If you had lived in Ravenna
instead of Venice all your life, carina mia, you would know how
infinitely absurd the idea seems of there being anything between the
Marchese Lamberto and a stage singer, or of its being possible for
him to regard her in any other light than that of a singing
machine."
"I dare say you are right, caro mio. Still I can't quite think that
the Marchese would look at any one of the fiddles quite as I saw him
look at her," said Paolina.
And then the immense interval, which occurs between one act and
another in Italian theatres, and which is tolerated with perfect
contentment by Italian audiences, came to an end; and Ludovico
hurried down to take his place again in the Castelmare box.
The next point in the opera which excited the special enthusiasm of
the house was the impassioned finale to the second act, in which
Amina on her knees strives to convince her lover of her innocence of
having ever harboured a thought inconsistent with entire devotion to
him. She sang as if her whole soul were in her words; and the entire
theatre was electrified by the power of her acting; the entire
theatre, with the exception of one intelligent and observant little
face in a box on the upper tier, exactly opposite to that of the
Marchese Lamberto.
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