'But what will become of us now?' sighed Faustina.
'Chi lo sa?'
They were both silent; Hasse walked to and fro, then stopped in front of his wife.
'I think we need not fear,' said he, 'for there is hardly anyone who could be put in my place, not even such a one as Popora, and there is absolutely no one to rival Faustina.'
'Flatterer,' said the Italian. 'Faustina's voice is like a candle that burns brightly--it will be extinguished one day.'
'Not very soon,' answered the thoughtful German, 'you know that better than I do.'
'But that quiet, pious, modest, ruled-by-his-wife new King--'
Hasse laughed.
'E un fanatico per la musica, e fanatico per la Faustina.'
'Chi lo sa?' whispered the singer thoughtfully, 'Well, if he is not all that you say, we must make him so.' A bright idea flashed through her brain, 'Poor old Augustus is dead,' said she in a lowered voice. 'I should like to make a beautiful speech over his grave, but I can't.'