olour, and upon her neck the famous Astrardente necklace of pearls,
three strings of even thickness, each jewel exquisitely white and just
lighted in its shadow by a delicate pink tinge--such a necklace as an
empress might have worn. In the raven masses of her hair there was not
the least ornament, nor did any flower enhance the rich blackness of its
silken coils. It would be impossible to imagine greater simplicity than
Corona showed in her dress, but it would be hard to conceive of any woman
who possessed by virtue of severe beauty a more indubitable right to
dispense with ornament.

The theatre was crowded. There was a performance of "Norma" for which
several celebrated artists had been engaged--an occurrence so rare in
Rome, that the theatre was absolutely full. The Astrardente box was
upon the second tier, just where the amphitheatre began to curve. There
was room in it for four or five persons to see the stage.

The Duchessa and her husband arrived in the middle of the first act, and
remained alone until it was over. Corona was extremely fond of "Norma,"
and after she was seated never took her eyes from the stage. Astrardente,
on the other hand, maintained his character as a man of no illusions, and
swept the house with his small opera-glass. The instrument itself was
like him, and would have been appropriate for a fine lady of the First
Empire; it was of mother-of-pearl, made very small and light, the
metal-work upon it heavily gilt and ornamented with turquoises. The old
man glanced from time to time at the stage, and then again settled
himself to the study of the audience, which interested him far more than
the opera.

"Every human being you ever heard of is here," he remarked at the end of
the first act. "Really I should think you would find it worth while to
look at your magnificent fellow-creatures, my dear."

Corona looked slowly round the house. She had excellent eyes, and never
used a glass. She saw the same faces she had seen for five years, the
same occasional flash of beauty, the same average number of over-dressed
women, the same paint, the same feathers, the same jewels. She saw
opposite to her Madame Mayer, with the elderly countess whom she
patronised for the sake of deafness, and found convenient as a sort of
flying chaperon. The countess could not hear much of the music, but she
was fond of the world and liked to be seen, and she could not hear at all
what Del Ferice said in an undertone to Ma