"
"So I suppose it was. But I think that perhaps I should have had
more pleasure in hearing a less magnificent singer, who was more
simpatica to me. I can't help it, but I do not like her; and I am
sure I can't tell why. I have no reason; but do you know, Ludovico
mio, there was one moment when, strange as it may seem, our eyes
met--hers and mine--in the theatre last night. It was just as she
turned away from your box, when you had put the bouquet into her
hand. She looked up, and our eyes met; and I can't tell you the
strange feeling and impression that her look made upon me. And I am
quite sure that, for some unaccountable reason or other, she does
not like me. She looked at me--it was only half a moment with a sort
of mocking triumph and hatred in her eyes, that quite made me
shudder and turn cold.
"If it were not so entirely impossible, I should think you were
jealous, my little Paolina. If I were to--what shall we say?--if I
were to set out on a journey with la Diva, tete-a-tete, to travel
from here to Rome, should you be jealous?"
"With La Bianca?"
"Yes! with La Bianca."
"I don't know. I don't think that I should in earnest. I know in my
inmost heart, my own love, that you love me truly and entirely; I
feel it, I am sure of it. But all the same, I should rather that you
did not travel from here to Rome alone with La Lalli.
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