I broke the seal; it ran as follows:
“La Sonnambula is performed to-morrow night; and Francilla appears as Amina. She sends you her compliments. Come and see her!
“Your friend,
“J. P. Pixis.”
I called one of the servants and ordered my horse saddled immediately. After the waltz was over, I took a hasty leave, threw myself on my horse, and rode with all speed towards Dresden.
I arrived in time for the opera; of which I was glad, for I had determined not to call upon Francilla till after the representation of La Sonnambula. The next morning I went to her lodgings in Castle-street, and was admitted. As I entered the parlor, she came to meet me, looking unusually pale, and with eyes red, as with weeping. She held out her hand in silence; I was startled; the cheerful welcome died on my lips. I looked anxiously at her, but did not venture to speak.
At length she asked, with a pensive smile, if I had been the preceding night at the opera.
“Indeed I was, Francilla,” I replied. “I saw you, and hardly know how I got home, so filled were head and heart with the music. I have much—so much to say to you! But I find you so altered—so——”
“Dejected, you would say,” interrupted the singer. “Ah yes! and well I may be so; and you too!”
“Why, Francilla! what has happened?”
“Alas! Bellini is dead!” she cried, and began to weep bitterly.