Evelyn, like all very impressionable people, was apt to be greatly influenced by her surroundings; yet was she not inconstant. She would forget, for the moment, and appear to be utterly free from all thought of the absent; but the excitement past, she would return with deeper passion to the memories of by-gone days. As yet, no one had approached Balzano in her heart. He still reigned alone—manly, noble, tender, the kind protector, the devoted friend; and yet she hesitated to make him happy, and, I must add, to be happy herself—for what woman could be otherwise with such a man? Another letter, still more pressing, came from the now anxious lover. Was his friend sick? in trouble? She was but to say one word. He would fly to her—to her he must love till the pulses of life ceased to beat—his bride, his soul, his delight. I found Evelyn in tears, with the open letter in her hand. “I will certainly write to-morrow,” she said. [Illustration] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XVII. +THE STAR OF DESTINY+ THE to-morrow of our good intentions, sometimes, it may be frequently, never dawns. On this particular to-morrow, according to Parisian custom, we were to be at home to our friends. Our morning was devoted to the duties of the toilet and those of the _ménage_. There was a duett to be practiced for piano and harp by myself and Ella, who now played that graceful instrument with exquisite taste. She was also to accompany her mother on the harp, in the lovely romance and prayer from Rossini’s Otello, by particular request of the _Maestro_ himself. Evelyn received well. Her _salon_ was much frequented by _artistes_ and men of letters; and a few charming female friends added greatly to the brilliancy of these réunions. A thorough musician herself, she had a perfect horror of the usual style of amateur singing; and no one was permitted, at her house, to display their mediocrity at the expense of the nerves of the company.