“‘One moment,’ said I, though my hand twitched and the pockets of my mind hungered when he spoke of money; ‘no fool’s haste will help you in an undertaking like this. Why, the man Ugo is not even in Vienna!’
“‘He comes to-night,’ cried he, laughing almost hysterically; ‘it shall be his last night as a free man—the night that Christine plays Joseph, too! Was there ever anything so good?’
“‘He comes to-night, you say,’ I replied; ‘then indeed must your work be quick, for if he meets the Count of Jézero, God help little Christine and Joseph that is to be!’
“‘Pshaw!’ said he, ‘to the devil with the opera!—let us go, old Andrea.’
“The news that Count Paul was in Vienna had come to Christine from her husband, Ugo. He had read it in a paper at Buda, and had chuckled over the news.
“‘Cospetto,’ said he to himself, ‘I will frighten her again, and she will be the readier to untie her purse-strings. She plays Joseph to-morrow, and after that she will be rich. Certainly, I must return to Vienna at once.’
“He posted the paper that night—it was the eve of the great day—and on the following morning at seven o’clock he took train for the capital. When he arrived at the Northern Station, he told the driver of his drosky to go straight to the Opera House; and there he sent in a little note to Mademoiselle Zlarin.
“‘Carissima,’ he wrote, ‘I have kept my promise. If you would save the man of Jézero, be sure to speak with me before to-night. I am at the Hotel Rákóczi.’
“He left the letter, pluming himself upon his cleverness, and began to think by what means he could turn to his profit a circumstance so fortunate. That Christine would take him at his word he never doubted. Nor was he wrong in this. The news of the Count’s coming was like oil upon the fire of her affections. The strength of the old passion filled her veins and made her brain burn. She went through the rehearsal of the morning hearing nothing, seeing nothing, giving no heed to the scene about her. ‘He has come for love of me’ was the entrancing thought which conquered all other thoughts, of prudence or of fear. She longed to run to her lover’s arms, to kneel by his side as she used to kneel, to know that here was her haven from the storm of life. The remonstrances of the conductor, the anger of the stage manager, fell lightly upon her ears. She whispered: ‘I love, I love.’ She was ignorant that the supreme moment of her life was upon her.
“This mood of joy remained with her during the morning, to the detriment of her performance, and to the annoyance of those playing with her. But when the note from her husband was delivered to her, the dream of pleasure passed swiftly, giving place to fear and a great sense of helplessness. She had not thought that Ugo would return to Vienna for some weeks at any rate. His sudden coming filled her with terror and foreboding. She remembered the childish threats the man had uttered. They were very real to her. She said that it lay upon her at least to warn Count Paul. She shunned the suggestion that she must seek him out and speak to him. ‘A letter will do,’ she said; and then again she began to doubt, telling herself that he would laugh at such a warning. No, she must see him; she must hear a word from his lips; she must hide nothing from him.