We are very successful up to this point. Wagner, who is standing behind an easy chair, leaning his elbows on the back, looks and listens with extreme attention, he is greatly interested and laughs heartily.
Now we must give the entire word: "Tarlatane." The public approbation encourages us, so we are no longer nervous about our effects.
Richter plays a waltz.
A lady comes home at midnight from a ball, in a tarlatan frock. Standing before her mirror she begins to remove her jewels, to take the flowers from her hair, meanwhile thinking over the incidents of the evening, the compliments, the scandals, the toilettes more or less pretty, the little absurdities of her friends, which are still amusing her.
As she has danced all the evening, she is very tired, and rejoices at the idea of retiring.
But suddenly there is a ring at the bell. The lady starts:
"Who can be ringing at my house at such an hour?"
The domestics are in bed. At first she dares not open the door: but she must, for perhaps some one of her neighbours is ill and in need of her.
On the threshold appears a strange young man, tall, thin, with weeping willow locks, and an awkward and conceited air.
"You are no doubt mistaken in the floor, sir, as I have not the honour of your acquaintance."