One day I had again been invited to dinner at the Villa Weckerlin. Those who sat next me at table were an Englishman—Lord Hillsborough—and Heraclius. After dinner the company repaired to the salon; the mistress of the house requested me to play something for them. Without being urged, I sat down at the grand piano and played with bravura a Chopin valse. Heraclius stood near me. “You are an artist,” he said when I had finished. It was now time to break up. The princess’s guests had also taken a box at the opera for that evening, and it had been agreed that we should go to the opera together. I followed the princess into her dressing-room to rearrange, my hair a little. The locks to be curled, and the faded roses to be replaced with fresh ones. While Masha, the maid, was doing this work, I looked at my own picture set in the silver frame of the toilet mirror. How advantageously this thick polished glass showed the image: or was it the effect of the champagne that my cheeks glowed so vividly, as if they had been rouged? I took up the oval hand mirror; it showed the same dazzling color; and by means of the double reflection I could now also see the effect of the spray of roses drooping between the dark locks at the back of my neck. The princess stood near the toilet table. “Take a little _poudre de riz_, my love,” she said, and lifted the silver cover of a round glass jar. I pressed the puff into the fragrant powder and dabbed it against my face and neck; how cooling it was, how refreshing to the hot cheeks! And then, after the visible traces of rice flour had been wiped off with the soft rabbit’s foot, the too deep red in the cheeks had been changed to a tender rose, the lips glowed the more vividly, and the eyes sparkled darker than before. To complete my toilet the princess gave me a sandalwood fan with steel spangles, and now we were ready. When we entered the box the performance was already in progress. They were giving _Rigoletto_. Gilda was just rushing down the steps to meet her father. _Mio padre!—Figlia mia!_ As it were a flood of delicate waves of tone came purling down from the stage, and the thickly packed theater presented a brilliant spectacle. The impressions of life’s splendor and joy which I was receiving that day kept on crescendo. Heraclius of Georgia was present in the box. He sat opposite me and kept his eyes fixed on me. It seemed to me as if the captivating melodies in the duet between Gilda and the duke expressed what was streaming from heart to heart between Heraclius and me, still unspoken but already understood on both sides. I listened to the fiery strains of Verdi, and slowly moved my fan back and forth, every motion sending me a breath of sandalwood. Once I slightly turned my head and met the eyes of my vis-à-vis fixed upon me full of tenderness and admiration. Then I dropped my lids, but soon, in spite of myself, I lifted them again and gave the dear fellow a long, full gaze of love.