the best and most fashionable society in Rome. It included
many of the highest nobility, who occupied the boxes they held for the
season. Everywhere the bright colored, elegant toilets of the ladies met
the eye, while the gentlemen were brilliant in fete attire. Fresh young
faces and noble old visages were side by side, the beauty of youth and
the impressiveness of age, and the male countenances were not less
striking than those of the females. Truly, it was a grand assemblage,
one that should delight the heart and flatter the vanity of even the
most capricious of prima donnas.

At first there was a low hum of conversation throughout the theatre,
together with preliminary visits from box to box, but the flutter began
to subside as the musicians appeared, and by the time they were in their
places in the orchestra absolute silence reigned. When the conductor
made his appearance he was greeted with a burst of applause, which he
gracefully acknowledged with a profound bow. Then he grasped his baton,
tapped lightly upon the rack in front of him, and the delightful
overture to Donizetti's great work commenced.

At its conclusion the curtain slowly rose and the opera began. Mlle. d'
Armilly came forth in due course, and the house fairly rung with
plaudits of welcome. She sang divinely and acted with consummate art,
receiving loud encores for all her numbers. Monte-Cristo who was
passionately fond of music, caught the prevailing enthusiasm and
gradually emerged from the shelter of the protecting curtains and
drapery. He had scanned Mlle. d' Armilly carefully through his
opera-glass and was thoroughly convinced that she was a perfect stranger
to him, although now and then a tone, a gesture or a movement of the
body vaguely conveyed a sense of recognition of some tone, gesture or
movement he had heard or seen somewhere before. The Count, however,
reflected that all women possessed certain points of resemblance in
voice and bearing; he, therefore, passed the present coincidences over
as purely accidental, thinking no more of them.

For a long while Mlle. d' Armilly did not glance at the box occupied by
Captain Joliette and the Count of Monte-Cristo,[5] and it was not until
the former threw her a costly wreath of flowers that she turned her eyes
in that direction. She was about bowing her acknowledgments, when her
gaze rested upon the stately form of the Count. Instantly she paused in
the centre of the stage, turned deadly pale