"He will live, but that is all science can do."
"Do not neglect one who has so absolute a right to my gratitude."
Turning then to Maulear, she said, "In a few days, Monsieur, my daughter and myself will expect you. She will soon be restored, and we will thank you for your services."
Maulear bade adieu to Mme. Rovero, not as a stranger or acquaintance of a few minutes, but as a friend who leaves a family with whom he is intimate. He left them with regret, as persons to whom he was devoted, and with whom he was willing to pass his life. Within a few hours, a strange change had been wrought in him. Struck with admiration at Aminta, the danger with which he found her surrounded, the successive agitations of the scene, the sweet influence exerted by her on his heart, the alternations of hope and fear, everything combined to disturb the placidity of his withered and somewhat blazé soul which scarcely seemed plastic enough to receive a profound and tender expression. He then experienced for Aminta what he had not amid all that terrible.... The features of the young girl he had borne in his memory, contracted as they were by pain, did not seem to him less charming, and excited a warmer interest than ever. Never before had the most beautiful in all the eclât of dress and manners appeared so attractive as the pale Aminta in her mortal agony. To sum up all, he was in love, and in love for the first time.
Henri left Sorrento with a painful sensation, and returned to Naples, where pleasure and warm receptions awaited him, from the many beauties on whom he expended the "small change" of his heart. As he said himself, he never was ruined by sensitiveness, keeping all the wealth of his heart for a good opportunity. That opportunity was come. He returned to the palace of the embassy, far different in his condition from what he was when he left. With the most perfect sang-froid therefore he read the following note which his valet had given him when he came in—
"The Duke de Palma, minister of police, requests the Marquis de Maulear to pass the evening with him."
Lower down in another hand was written—
"Do not fail. La Felina will sing, and at two o'clock we will have a supper of our intimate friends. You know whether or not you are one of the number."
The Duke of Palma, minister of police of the kingdom of Naples, was one of the friends of Fernando IV. He was not a great minister, but was young and intellectual. His principal merit was that he amused his master, by recounting secret intrigues, whimsical adventures, and delicate affairs, a knowledge of which he acquired by means of his position. Thus he found favor with Fernando, who was not served, but amused and satisfied. Sovereigns who are amused are indulgent. Maulear hesitated a long time before he accepted the invitation. His soul was occupied by new and delicious emotions. It seemed to him to be profanity to transport them to such a different and dissipated scene. He however shrunk from solitude, and the idea of living apart from Aminta for whole days, made him desire the amusement and excitement promised by the invitation. The entertainment was superb. All the noble, elegant and rich of Naples were bidden. The concert began. The first pieces were scarcely listened to, in consequence of the studiously late entries of many distinguished personages, and of many pretty women, who would not on any account enter incognito either a drawing-room or a theater, and were careful never to come thither until the moment when their presence would attract attention or produce interruption. Silence however pervaded in a short time all the assemblage. The crowd which a moment before had been so agitated became at once calm and mute. A fairy spell seemed to have transfixed them. A fairy was really come—that of music.... The Queen of the theater of Italy, La Bella Felina—that strange sibyl of the ball at San Carlo. The excitement to hear her was great, and the prima donna had immense success. The young woman, by coming to his soirée, did the minister of police a great favor: The singer had during the whole year refused the most brilliant invitations and the largest sums to sing any where but at San Carlo. Thrice she had appeared on the concert gallery, and thrice descended amid immense applause.
Great is the triumph of song. Yet its success is fleeting and ephemeral, and may be annihilated by the merest accident. The glory is frail, the fortune uncertain, of all that emanates from the human throat.