"Then your excellency—"
"I give you carte blanche; bring Aslitta to the citadel, but not before the close of the performance; I wish to hear the opera to the end."
The adjutant tore a piece of paper from a note-book, wrote a few lines upon it and gave it to San Pietro. The count gave a diabolical laugh. His course was easy now.
As much as San Pietro had tried, he could not remember whom La Luciola looked like. Thanks to his wound, a blank had occurred in his memory, and certain episodes of his former life were covered with a heavy veil. As he now threw a glance at the opposite box, a part of this veil was torn asunder, and like a dazed person he looked at the gentleman dressed in black. The latter transfixed him likewise. Instinctively the count coughed and hid his face in his handkerchief. He could not meet the gaze of those coal-black eyes.
"No, no," he muttered, anxiously. "No one knows my former name; I would be a fool to get frightened."
As soon as the first act was over, San Pietro turned to an officer and said:
"Do you know the gentleman sitting in the opposite box?"
"Not personally, but from reputation. He is said to be enormously rich."
"What is his name?"