At that time in Venice a certain number of children received a musical education at the expense of the state, and it was Porpora, the great musician--then a soured and disappointed man--who trained the voices of the girls. They were not equally poor, these young ladies, and among them were the daughters of needy artists, whose wandering existence did not permit them a long stay in Venice. Of such parentage was little Consuelo, born in Spain, and arriving in Italy by the strange routes of Bohemians. Not that Gonsuelo was really a gipsy. She was of good Spanish blood, and had a calmness of mind and manner quite foreign to the wandering races. A rare and happy temperament was hers, and, in spite of poverty and orphanhood--for her mother, who brought her to Venice, was dead--Consuelo worked on with Porpora, finding the labour an enjoyment, and overcoming the difficulties of her art as if by some invisible instinct. When Consuelo was eighteen Count Zustiniani, having heard her sing in Porpora's choir, decided she must come out as a prima donna in his theatre. For the fame and success of this theatre Zustiniani cared more than for anything else in the world--not that he was eager for money, but because he was an enthusiast for music--a man of taste, an amateur, whose great business in life was to gratify his taste. He liked to be talked about and to have his theatre and his magnificence talked about. The success of Consuelo was assured when she appeared for the first time in Gluck's "Ipermnestra." The debutante was at once self-possessed and serious, receiving the applause of the audience without fear or humility. For her art itself, and not the results of art, were the main thing, and her inward satisfaction in her performance did not depend on the amount of approbation manifested by the public. But Zustiniani, gratified as he was by the triumph of his new prima donna, was not content with Consuelo's success on the stage; he also wanted her for himself. Consuelo gravely refused the jewels and ornaments he offered her, and the count was strangely annoyed. He was thrilled with unknown emotions by Consuelo's singing, and his patrician soul could not realise that this poor little pupil of Porpora's was not to be won by the ordinary methods, which he had hitherto employed successfully in the conquest of opera singers. Porpora saved Consuelo from the count's threatening attentions. The prima donna suddenly disappeared, and it was said she had gone to Vienna, that she had been engaged for the emperor's theatre, and that Porpora was also going there to conduct his new opera.