He passed down the long stairs with them and she heard no more, but as she followed the maid down to the stage, a flood of fiery rebellion swept over her, and waiting for the music, there was the look of Paoli in her pose and flashing eyes.
D’Istria and Jurka had avoided each other by tacit mutual consent. One long look they had interchanged, and the ambassador’s eyebrow had raised ever so slightly. He had given no sign of recognition, but even to Jacobelli the enmity between the two men was unmistakable. He would have been more interested in it, possibly, had not Ogden Ward arrived late, and he remained with him, telling him of Casanova’s offer.
The first strains of opening music caught his ear. Ames did not call it an overture. It was not pretentious enough for that. It was merely a prelude, a mingled fantasy of Italian village-fête melodies, the harmonies that spring involuntarily from the very life-blood of a people. Jacobelli listened in alert surprise. This unknown composer had caught the secret and had woven it into his opera. He hunted covertly for his programme. The name on it, “Griffeth Ames,” meant nothing to him nor did that of the soprano, Paola Roma. Had he been suspicious, Carlota’s twirling about of names to suit her fancy might have given him a clue, but as it was, his professional interest in the composer absorbed him, and he passed the name by.
In the opening duet between Peppino and Nedda he suffered visibly, whispering to D’Istria.
“Ah, money, what crimes are committed in thy name! They choke art, these people; they strangle it to death with cash and coupons.”
The action of the operetta was swift. Peppino had come to the castle with his daily catch. His sweetheart follows him, jealous of his admiration for the princess and his lingering in her garden. From the bower window in the tower, Fiametta watches him, and, half-hidden, hears him sing his love for her, “a certain star beyond all love of mine!” Peppino promises Nedda she shall be his choice at the festa the following day, and their betrothal announced, and she leaves, satisfied. The princess lingers in the garden after they have gone and sings “Cerca d’Amore,” the quest of love.
It was on this aria that Ames based his greatest hope, and even as he led the orchestra, he sensed back of him the thrill which ran over the audience at the entrée of Carlota. He himself stared up at her in blank amazement. She had worn her silk domino up to the final moment and he had not seen her costume. But now, as she lifted her voice in the opening strains of the “Quest” song, he stared and marveled.
Mrs. Nevins lifted her pince-nez and never lowered it until the curtain fell on the interlude. Then she remarked to the woman next her in tones which demanded an explanation from Mr. Ames, “That girl is wearing a fortune in real jewels!”
Jacobelli was near-sighted. Hindered by the crowd from a clear view of the stage, the Fiametta motif did not warn him of what was about to happen, but the first notes of Carlota’s voice shocked him into attention. She was singing as never before. The rôle appealed to her, the lonely little princess planning her disguise at the fête, seeking her fisher-boy love. Her rendering of the aria was a sensation. He caught a glimpse of D’Istria’s face, of Ward’s, and trembled with emotion. In front of him was a large, stately grande dame with opera glasses. He reached for them out of her hand imperatively.
“You permit, if you please? I cannot see. It is most imperative that I see, you understand?”