For I am sure that
it is not necessary to ask you to come to me. You can guess how
eagerly I wish to speak to you; to hear from you that you have
dismissed for ever those horrid thoughts that you vexed me with at
the theatre last night. I longed so to have sung the words I had to
utter for your ears--to your ears only: `Amo il zeffiro, perche ad
esso il tuo nome confido.' Ah, Lamberto, if you knew how true that
is. It is often--how often--the singer's duty to utter on the stage
the words of passion. But what a thing it is--a thing I never
dreamed before--to feel them as I utter them. The opera did not go
badly, did it? I think the success was a legitimate one. But what is
any success or any applause now to me, save yours? I felt that I was
singing to one only, as one only was in my heart and in my thoughts.
Do not let many hours pass before you come to me, my love, my lord!
For they go very slowly and heavily, these hours; and as I trace the
movement of the tardy hour-hand on the clock, I grow sick with
longing, and with hope deferred. Come to me, my dearest and my best.
Your own" "Bianca"
"P. S.--I have mentioned our engagement to no soul save my father;
of course you did not wish me to exclude him from our confidence. He
is fully worthy of it."
The Marchese sunk down into the chair that stood before his toilet-
table, with the little letter in his hand; and his hand shook, and
his eyes were dizzy, and there was a buzzy ringing in his ears.
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