The hour came for the opera; carriages rolled along the streets; Louis sat in the pit where he could see over the house, and looked eagerly around for his unknown fair one. In vain; she was nowhere to be seen!
The magnificent overture began; Louis was now in despair. She would not be at the opera; for who would miss the overture to Don Giovanni! He was disappointed, and felt only half roused to his wonted enthusiasm. The grief of Donna Anna, Elvira’s tears, Zerlina’s witchery, Don Giovanni’s bold wickedness, failed to excite him as they had been used to do. In fact, he only half listened to the music.
The performance was at an end. Discontented and vexed with himself, Louis stood in the vestibule while the crowd was passing out. Just then he caught the tones of a remembered voice—“To the left, dear father, the carriage is at the other door!” He started, and pressing forward, saw what appeared to be the same dark silk scarf he had seen in the morning. It was worn by a young lady, who leaned on the arm of an elderly man; and both were going towards the side door. Louis was about to follow them, when he felt a hand laid on his shoulder, and at the same moment his arm was grasped by some one in the crowd. “Good evening, friend!” cried a rough voice. “Whither, in such haste? I have been looking for you everywhere. Quick, come with me! We shall sup together!” The speaker was Heissenheimer, an old merchant; an excellent man, and a passionate admirer of music. Louis had brought a letter to him; and thus he found it impossible to decline his friendly invitation, unwelcome as it was just at this moment. Mechanically he suffered himself to be led away, wishing, however, the old gentleman and his supper at the bottom of the sea, and looking back more than once, to see if he could catch a glimpse of his beautiful unknown. Nothing could be seen but a throng of strange faces, and his companion hurried him out of the nearest side door, to escape the confusion.
While they made their way through the crowd without, Heissenheimer did not observe the abstraction of his young companion. They soon emerged into a clear space, where the moon shone brightly on noble buildings; and the old man suddenly cried—“But have you nothing, friend, to say? I have been waiting for the expression of your delight, and hardly kept my own within bounds. What is the meaning of this? Is anything the matter?”
“Nay, Mr. Heissenheimer,” returned the young man, smiling, “I have felt the beauty of the work none the less, that I have enjoyed it in silence.”
“But,” cried the other petulantly, “that is not the way with young people! I like not this dullness, and grave looks, when the heart should be full of joy. You have youthful spirits, love, fire in your breast, and should give them vent! Be cheerful, I tell you; be delighted, be frolicsome, be half mad with enthusiasm; or I warn you, you have old Heissenheimer for an enemy! But stop; here we are at the place already!”
They stood under some linden trees, in front of a house whose lower story was brilliantly lighted. The light fell full upon the street through the windows. Before they entered, both turned to look at some passers-by. What was the astonishment of Louis to recognize his fair unknown, leaning on the arm of the elderly man he had seen at the opera! The lamplight shone upon her face; it was the very same! He started forward; nothing now would have withheld him; but Heissenheimer sprang also towards them, exclaiming—“Ha! Signor Ricco! Maestro! whither away! Good even to you, pretty Nina!”
Both stopped at this salutation. While Heissenheimer was speaking with them, Louis stood in some embarrassment; till his friend recollected himself, and presented him. “Ecco—Maestro—here is a young musician, who will give you something to do: he will dispute with you about Sebastian Bach and Rossini, Master Louis——the chapel-master, Signor Ricco, and his daughter Nina!” Louis bowed, coloring deeply, and murmured some indefinite words about pleasure and honor. His companion interrupted them with “My good friends, may I beg the favor of your company with us? Will you sup in the Café Royal, fair Nina?” Nina declined the invitation gracefully, but begged her father not to lose the pleasure. Their home was only two doors off, and she could go there without escort. “We will all escort you,” said the old merchant, “hurt as I am that you will not go with us.” Two or three more gallant speeches passed, and the three accompanied the young lady to the chapel-master’s house. After a polite acknowledgment of their courtesy, Nina disappeared; the gentlemen went to the café, where an excellent supper was prepared, with the best wines; and Heissenheimer played the merry host to his heart’s content.
CHAPTER II.
After Signor Ricco had explained the mystery of his daughter and himself going home on foot, their carriage having disappointed them, the conversation turned on the opera they had just seen. The chapel-master declared, with a half comic distortion of face, that he wished he had stayed away.