"He has the voice of a god, Signore, and at La Scala, two seasons ago--oh, Signore, it was the talk of the whole city. The papers called him the New Mario, and he is so handsome--like an angel. After La Scala he went to Florence, to Naples, and then to Rome, where he sang in 'Faust' and 'Polyeuct' at the Apollo, then he came on here a week ago for the season at the Ezzelino; but now he is lost. Dio! how unhappy I am." She covered her face with her hands, and wept quietly for a few minutes, and, impatient as I was to hear the particulars of the affair, I did not dare to disturb her grief. After a time she dried her tears, and went on again,-- "He came to Verona on Saturday, Signore, and we were so happy together talking about our marriage; and on Monday he sang in 'Faust' at the Ezzelino. I went to the theatre with Petronella, and that was the last time I saw him." "Oh, then he disappeared on Monday night!" I asked quickly, feeling my heart begin to beat rapidly with excitement, for it was on Monday night that my extraordinary adventure had taken place. "Yes, Signore. He was to come here after the opera, to tell the Maestro how he had sung--you know how anxious the Maestro is over his pupils, but he never came, nor the next day either; so this morning I went to ask at the Ezzelino, and they told me he had disappeared." "It's curious I never heard of it. The disappearance of a popular tenor is not a common thing!" "Signore, he sang on Monday and was to sing again to-night, so nothing was thought about him not coming to the theatre yesterday; but this morning they sent to his lodgings, to find that he had not been there since he left the Ezzelino after the opera on Monday." "The papers will be full of it to-night!" "Ah! that will not bring him back," said poor little Bianca in a melancholy tone, shaking her small head, which drooped like a faded flower. I was now certain that my adventure on Monday night had something to do with the disappearance of Guiseppe Pallanza, and doubtless the young man I had seen in the deserted palace was the missing tenor; but the antique dress, the amorous rendezvous--these needed some explanation. "Was he in love with any one, Signorina?" It was a cruel but necessary question which angered Bianca, who threw back her little head with great haughtiness. "Signore, he loved me and no one else." "Had he any reason for disappearing?" "Signore!" "Forgive me if I appear rude," I said in a deprecating tone; "but indeed, Signorina, to find out all I must know all." "Well, Signore, I am telling you all," she replied petulantly. "It was most strange his going away from the theatre." "How so?" "He left the Ezzelino in his stage-dress!" "Ah!" I jumped to my feet in a state of uncontrollable excitement, for I saw at once that I was on the right track. The antique dress was explained now! it was the dress he wore in the last act of "Faust."