"'Never!' said the Duchess, 'I left my voice on the banks of the Lago di Como, and have not forgotten my last song.'
"''Twas indeed a sad epoch,' said the Prince, 'If it was the funeral of your talent.'
"'I will never sing again!' said the Duchess, 'I remember that day as I do all the unhappy ones of my life. Ah! they are far more numerous than our happy days. It was evening, and in a gay room of my villa, whither I had come still trembling at having seen a traveller nearly drowned in the lake. I know not what sad yet pleasant memory was nursed in my heart, but I went to my piano and sung an air I had sung for the last time at San Carlo. Tell me, Count Monte-Leone—you were there—what was it?'
"'La Griselda.'
"'It was. On that evening all my enthusiasm returned to me. While singing, however, a strange fancy took possession of me. I thought I saw in the mirror in front of me, the features of one who had long been dead—dead at least to me. My emotion was so instinct with terror and happiness, that since then I have not sung.'
"'That is a perfect romance,' said the Prince, 'like those of the dreamy Hoffman I met at Vienna.'
"'No, sir, it is a fact, or rather the commencement of a series of facts, which, however, will interest no one here. For that reason I do not tell it.'
"The Duchess of Palma rose to leave. The Prince offered her his hand.
"'No, Prince,' said she, 'I will not trouble you, for I am about to ask the Count to accompany me. Excuse me,' said she, 'excuse me for taking him away, but I need not use ceremony with a countryman.'
"Without giving him time to reply, she passed her arm through his, went out, or rather dragged him out with her.