"I think the passion of anguish and pain taught me to interpret the pains and joys of others. There is another opera I love—'L'Etoile du Nord.' The grave, tender, grand character of Catherine, with her passionate love, her despair, and her madness, holds me in thrall. There is no love without madness."
A deep sigh from her companion aroused her, and she remembered that she was on dangerous ground; still the subject had a great charm for her.
"If I ever wrote an opera," she said, "I should have jealousy for my ground-work."
"Why?" he asked, briefly.
"Because," she replied, "it is the strongest of all passions."
"Stronger than love?" he asked.
"I shall always think they go together," said Leone. "I know that philosophers call jealousy the passion of ignoble minds; I am not so sure of it. It goes, I think, with all great love, but not with calm, well-controlled affection. I should make it the subject of my opera, because it is so strong, so deep, so bitter; it transforms one, it changes angels into demons. We will not talk about it." She drew a little jeweled watch from her pocket. "Lord Chandos," she said, "we have been talking two hours, and you must not stay any longer."
When he was gone she said to herself that she would not ask him any more questions about Lady Marion.