“Commit thy ways, Oh, pilgrim,
And yield thy sick heart’s sighs
Unto the faithful caring
Of Him who rules the skies!”
More steady, more powerful rose the harmony; it filled the apartment, and was heard even in the streets, where it brought peace and consolation to more than one sick heart, as the passers-by stopped to listen.
In a luxuriously decorated room, lighted by a splendid astral lamp, reclined on a rich ottoman Faustina Hasse, the most beautiful woman, and the greatest dramatic singer, not only of her own, but perhaps of all times.
She wore a simple white robe, of the finest material; a costly necklace of pearls was rivalled by the snow of her lovely neck; her lofty brow was somewhat paler than usual, and a touch of melancholy about her mouth softened the pride that generally ruled the expression of those exquisite features.
“Let him come in!” said she, carelessly, to the waiting-maid, who had just announced a visitor. The maid withdrew, and the minister, Count von Brühl, entered, with a low and courtly bow. Faustina replied by a slight inclination of her head, and without changing her own easy position, motioned him to a seat. The minister sat down, and began smilingly—
“My late visit surprises you, does it not, Signora?”
“I am not yet aware of its object.”