o her stepping into her carriage to go to the theatre. A single
gasp and a convulsion, and Thomas Billington was dead at his wife's
feet. The consternation at this event was mixed with much scandal, and
many whispered that he had died from poison or the dagger. It was known
that the Neapolitan nobles had paid Mrs. Billington warm attention,
and hints of assassination were industriously circulated by those
gossip-mongers who are always in quest of a fresh social sensation. Mrs.
Billington, after remaining for some time in retirement, fled from a
scene which was fraught with painful memories, though there is no reason
to believe that she deeply lamented the loss of a husband whose only
attraction to this brilliant woman was the reflected light of her youth,
which invested him with the association of her first girlish love. At
all events, the widow succeeded in becoming desperately enamored
in Milan, a short six months after, with an officer of the French
commissariat, M. Felican. He was a remarkably handsome man, and his
strong siege of the lovely Billington soon caused her to surrender at
discretion. She declared "she was in love for the first time in her
life," and her marriage took place in 1799 without delay. Her raptures,
however, came to a swift conclusion; for among M. Felican's favorite
methods of displaying marital devotion were beating her, and hurling
dishes or other convenient movables at her head when in the least
irritated. The novel character of her honeymoon soon became known to a
curious and possibly envious public, and the brutal Felican was publicly
flogged at the drum-head by order of General Serrurier, within two
months of her marriage, for whipping her so cruelly that she could not
appear in the opera of the evening.

The tenor, Braham, sang with Mrs. Billington at Milan during this
period, in the opera "Il Trionfo de Claria," by Nasolini, and an
amusing incident occurred in the rivalry of the two, each to surpass
the other in popular estimation. The applause which Braham received at
rehearsal enraged Felican, who intrigued till he persuaded the leader to
omit the grand aria for the tenor voice, in which Braham's powers were
advantageously displayed. This piece of spite and jealousy being noised
about, the public openly testified their displeasure, and the next day
it was announced by Gherardi, the manager, in the bills, that Braham's
scena should be performed; and on the second night of the opera it