“What, dearest! You wish to go every evening to the opera?”
“I think, my love, that, if we did not go, we should give some excuse for scandal-mongers to gossip. Yet, should you not like it, you know that there is no need for us to go. Do not think of me, for I prefer our pleasant chat in this room to the heavenly concert of the seraphs.”
“I am passionately fond of music, darling, but I cannot help trembling at the idea of going out.”
“If you tremble, I must shudder, but we ought to go to the opera or leave Parma. Let us go to London or to any other place. Give your orders, I am ready to do anything you like.”
“Well, take a private box as little exposed as possible.”
“How kind you are!”
The box I had engaged was in the second tier, but the theatre being small it was difficult for a pretty woman to escape observation.
I told her so.
“I do not think there is any danger,” she answered; “for I have not seen the name of any person of my acquaintance in the list of foreigners which you gave me to read.”
Thus did Henriette go to the opera. I had taken care that our box should not be lighted up. It was an opera-buffa, the music of Burellano was excellent, and the singers were very good.