“Fiametta is the lonely princess of the Castle Tittani. She loves Peppino, a fisher-boy. There is a fête in the village. She disguises herself to go down and mingle with the people, scaling the walls of Tittani with love’s magic. She dances with Peppino, who does not know that she is the princess. He is disguised as Harlequin. His sweetheart stabs her through jealousy when Peppino avows his love for her. She dies in his arms as the people recognize her as their princess. It is the tragedy of youth’s eternal quest for love beyond all barriers.”
Her head was bent over the salad bowl as she listened.
“I call it ‘Fiametta.’ Do you like it?” he asked eagerly. “You don’t mind my using the little story you told me, do you, Carlota? I may make it immortal.”
“Why must she die, your princess?” she said wistfully. “I love it all but that. How could you write it when you had not seen our beautiful Tittani or known my people.”
“I had seen and known you. That’s the answer. Listen to this.” He flung himself down at the piano, head back, striking into the melody that had been his call to her. “This is your motif.”
Suddenly there came an imperative tap at the door.
“Open. My arms are full.”
“That’s only Dmitri. You met him at the Phelpses that night.” Ames threw wide the door. “Enter and join the happy throng. Comes a Greek bearing gifts.”
At sight of Carlota, Dmitri dropped his bundles and made obeisance with sedate ceremony.
“I had not dreamt that any but myself would ever climb those stairs to the house of Ptolemy.”