"My friend," replied Franzius, "do I remember? Ach Gott! but for that night I would never have met you, I would never have met Eloise, I would be now second violin at the Closerie de Lilas, a man without love and without a future. It is to you I owe all."
"Not a bit. It is to chance. And if it comes to that, it is to you I owe all. But for you I would have been killed that night in my sleep. You remember the hunting-song that held me—you gave me the words of it last autumn. I wish some time you would write out the music for me."
Franzius smiled; then, as if speaking with an effort: "It was to have been a surprise. I have written out the music of it for you; it is in the score of the opera; it forms part of the overture."
I have never felt more excited than I felt that night. Despite the assurance of Carvalho, I felt that the fate of my friend was hanging in the balance; and I am sure I felt far more nervous than he, for he seemed quite calm and certain of success.
We dined early, and he departed before us, for he was to conduct.
We arrived before the house was half filled, and took our places in M. le Vicomte's box, which was situated in the first tier. Then the flood-gates of the world where all the inhabitants are wealthy slowly opened; box after box became a galaxy of stars; diamonds, ribbons, and orders reflected the brilliant light which flooded the house, fans fluttered like gorgeous butterflies, and the house, no longer half deserted, became a scene of splendour filled with the perfume of flowers, the intoxication of brilliancy; and my heart leapt to think of Franzius as I had met him that night in the Boul' Miche, going along in his old threadbare coat, with his violin under his arm, poor, unfriended, and unknown, and to think of him now, like a magician, compelling the wealth and beauty of Europe to his will!
Ah, yes! there is something in genius after all, something in it, if it is not trampled to death by fools before it has time to expand its wings.
The Empress was unable to attend, but the Emperor was there; and in the box with him were the Duc de Gramont and the Duc de Bassano. The Faubourg St. Germain was there, and the Chaussée d'Antin, old nobility and new, at daggers drawn, yet brought under the same roof by Art.
There was an electrical feeling in the place, a something I could not describe, till the Vicomte de Chatellan gave it a name.
"Success is in the air!" said he; then it seemed to me that I could hear her wings, that glorious goddess more beautiful than the Athena of the Parthenon.