“Will you explain to me,” said he, shaking his foot to free it from her embrace, “how you happen to be in my palazzo? How the impoverished Emilio Memmi—”
“Emilio Memmi!” cried Tinti, rising. “You said you were a Prince.”
“A Prince since yesterday.”
“You are in love with the Duchess Cataneo!” said she, looking at him from head to foot.
Emilio stood mute, seeing that the prima dona was smiling at him through her tears.
“Your Highness does not know that the man who had me trained for the stage—that the Duke—is Cataneo himself. And your friend Vendramini, thinking to do you a service, let him this palace for a thousand crowns, for the period of my season at the Fenice. Dear idol of my heart!” she went on, taking his hand and drawing him towards her, “why do you fly from one for whom many a man would run the risk of broken bones? Love, you see, is always love. It is the same everywhere; it is the sun of our souls; we can warm ourselves whenever it shines, and here—now—it is full noonday. If to-morrow you are not satisfied, kill me! But I shall survive, for I am a real beauty!”
Emilio decided on remaining. When he signified his consent by a nod the impulse of delight that sent a shiver through Clarina seemed to him like a light from hell. Love had never before appeared to him in so impressive a form.
At that moment Carmagnola whistled loudly.
“What can he want of me?” said the Prince.
But bewildered by love, Emilio paid no heed to the gondolier’s repeated signals.