Not far from the Maestro, who was conducting the music from the centre of the orchestra, was seated Carricchio. He had, of course, discarded his professional dress, and had attired himself, according to the genius of his countrymen, in rich but dark and plain attire. Any one who could have watched his face--that face which the little Schoolmaster was used to wonder at--and could have marked the quaint mingling, on the large worn features, of the old humorous movement with the new emotions of wonder and of love, would not have spent his moments in vain. But the success was too complete. The Empress-Queen was shocked at the breach of decorum. She was not in the least touched by the Signorina's singing, and the story of the opera was unintelligible to her. It was suggested by those who were offended and injured by the success of the piece, and by the displacement of other operas, that this arrangement entailed increased expense upon the royal treasury, and, amid the penurious and pettifogging instincts of the Court of Vienna in those days, this was a fatal thrust. The theatre, it was said, was required for other pieces, notably for a new opera by Metastasio himself. "It was very beautiful, Ferdinand," said the Princess, as they left the box; and, struck by her tone and by the unaccustomed use of his name, the Prince looked at her with surprise, for it was years since he had seen the sweet, softened, well-remembered look in her eyes. "I liked that boy!" "I will convey your approbation to the Signorina," replied the Prince; "it will complete the triumph of the night." "Where do you sup to-night, Ferdinand?" said the Princess. "I--I sup in private with the Maestro and Tina," said the Prince. "Ah!" said the Princess, still with the same wistful, unaccustomed look. "There is a cover laid for me at the Imperial table--I must go." It is absurd to talk of what would have happened had the threads of our lives been woven into different tissues, else we might say that but for that Imperial cover the issues of this story would have had a different close. The Maestro waited at the theatre till the Signorina had changed her dress. When she appeared she was radiant with triumph and delight, but the old man was sad and depressed. Some intimation of the fatal resolution had been conveyed to him in the interval. "What is the matter with you, Maestro?" said the girl; "you ought to be delighted, and you look as gloomy as a ghost. What is it?" "It is nothing," said the Maestro. "I am an old man, _mia cara_, and the performance tires me. Let us go to the Prince." They entered a fiacre, and were driven to the courtyard of the Prince's _Hôtel_.