"Well," said Joliette, "you will see her to-night, at any rate, despite her prohibition. She cannot keep you out of the theatre, for the box is purchased and here are the tickets."
"But she will be angry with you, Captain," said the Count, slyly, "for bringing such an undesirable auditor. I had better go alone and occupy some obscure seat. I do not wish you to forfeit Mlle. d' Armilly's smiles for me."
"Pshaw!" replied Joliette, "there is plainly some mistake. She does not know you, will not recognize you. She has certainly confounded you with some one else."
"Perhaps so," said Monte-Cristo; "but women's memories are good, and I warn you that you are taking a grave risk."
"None whatever, I assure you. It is more than likely that, in answering your note as she did, Mlle. d' Armilly was influenced solely by caprice. If she should ask me after the performance who was my companion, I have only to give you a fictitious name and she will be none the wiser."
That evening Captain Joliette and the Count of Monte-Cristo made their way through the dense throng in front of the Apollo Theatre, and were finally shown into a lower proscenium box commanding a full view of the stage. Monte-Cristo instinctively sought refuge behind the curtains and drapery of the box, where he could sit unobserved and yet be enabled to closely scrutinize the mysterious singer who appeared to have such an intense aversion for him.
Although still early the house was already crowded in every part, and throngs were unable to gain even admission. The vast audience was made up chiefly of the best and most fashionable society in Rome. It included many of the highest nobility, who occupied the boxes they held for the season. Everywhere the bright colored, elegant toilets of the ladies met the eye, while the gentlemen were brilliant in fête attire. Fresh young faces and noble old visages were side by side, the beauty of youth and the impressiveness of age, and the male countenances were not less striking than those of the females. Truly, it was a grand assemblage, one that should delight the heart and flatter the vanity of even the most capricious of prima donnas.
At first there was a low hum of conversation throughout the theatre, together with preliminary visits from box to box, but the flutter began to subside as the musicians appeared, and by the time they were in their places in the orchestra absolute silence reigned. When the conductor made his appearance he was greeted with a burst of applause, which he gracefully acknowledged with a profound bow. Then he grasped his bâton, tapped lightly upon the rack in front of him, and the delightful overture to Donizetti's great work commenced.