"Yes; I suppose it is. But--Ludovico mio, just ask any other woman--any other good woman--in the house; and see if they have not the same feeling. The Contessa Violante, for example--ask her," said Paolina. "Just because she is splendidly handsome: women cannot be just to each other when that comes in the way. But you might afford to be charitable even to so beautiful a creature as the Lalli, my Paolina." "No, Signor, I won't be bribed by compliments, even from you," she whispered, with a look that showed that the value of the bribe was not unappreciated; "and I think that what you say is unjust to women in general." "But I wonder what it is then that has prejudiced you against the Lalli?" "I don't know. Really nothing that I can tell. One feels sometimes what one cannot explain. She is not simpatica to me, that is all." "But what on earth put it into your head, Paolina mia, to say that she was not thinking of me when she was singing her part? Why should she think of me--or of anybody else, except the primo tenore, who was singing with her? What is it you mean?" said Ludovico, much puzzled. "You said she was a very good actress as well as a fine singer," returned Paolina; "and I think she is. This is a capital box for seeing all that goes on the opposite side of the theatre. And I can tell you who the Lalli was thinking of, and who she was singing at during her duet at the end of the act--your uncle, the Marchese Lamberto; and he knew it very well, too." "What parcel of nonsense have you got into your little brains, Paolina? Sing at the Marchese? Of course they all do; of course they all know that his suffrage is of more importance to them than all the rest of the theatre put together. But as for my idea of--lo zio--of all men in the world. Ha, ha, ha! If you had lived in Ravenna instead of Venice all your life, carina mia, you would know how infinitely absurd the idea seems of there being anything between the Marchese Lamberto and a stage singer, or of its being possible for him to regard her in any other light than that of a singing machine." "I dare say you are right, caro mio. Still I can't quite think that the Marchese would look at any one of the fiddles quite as I saw him look at her," said Paolina. And then the immense interval, which occurs between one act and another in Italian theatres, and which is tolerated with perfect contentment by Italian audiences, came to an end; and Ludovico hurried down to take his place again in the Castelmare box.