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 bâton, 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 beneath the paint of her make-up, and, with a loud scream, fell in a swoon. The curtain was at once rung down, and the director, stating that the prima donna had been seized with sudden and alarming indisposition, dismissed the audience. Captain Joliette rushed to Mlle. d' Armilly's dressing-room and the Count of Monte-Cristo wended his way back to the Palazzo Costi, utterly bewildered by what had taken place.

CHAPTER II.

A STRANGELY SENT EPISTLE.

Zuleika, Monte-Cristo's daughter, had been for some months in the convent school conducted by the Sisterhood of the Sacred Heart. She was not a close student though a rapid learner, and was rather inclined to romance and adventure than to musty books of history and science. As has already been stated, she had the early maturity of Greek girls. Besides, she had attracted the attention of several Roman youths of high and noble lineage, who had eagerly paid her the homage due to her beauty and oriental attractiveness. Though but fifteen, she appreciated and felt flattered by this homage, and naturally was impatient of the restraint put upon her by the regulations of the convent school, which rigorously excluded all male visitors save parents or guardians.

In the first rank of her youthful admirers was the Viscount Giovanni Massetti. He was more ardent than any of the rest and, indeed, was desperately in love with the fair and bewitching child of the dead Haydée. He belonged to a family of great antiquity and boundless wealth, and was reputed to possess a vast fortune in his own right. The Viscount was only in his twenty-first year, but was exceedingly manly, dashing and gallant. He was quite handsome and was said to be the soul of honor, though his ardent temperament and headlong pursuit of whatever he most coveted not unfrequently involved him in serious troubles, from which, thanks to his own tact and the vast influence of his family, he generally came out unscathed.

On Zuleika's arrival in Rome and before she had been placed in the convent school, the Viscount Massetti had made her acquaintance in a way that savored of romance and that made a deep impression upon the inexperienced young girl. In Monte-Cristo's carriage, attended only by a timid femme de chambre, she was one day crossing one of the two bridges leading to the Island of San Bartolomeo, when a trace broke and the horses took fright. The terrified driver lost control of them, and the mad animals dashed along at a fearful rate, almost overturning the carriage. Zuleika had arisen in the vehicle, which was an open barouche, and was wildly clinging to the back of the front seat, her face white with fear and her long black hair, which had become loosened, streaming out behind her. Her wide open eyes had in them a look of tearful supplication most difficult to resist. The young Viscount, who was riding over the bridge on horseback at the time of the accident, could not resist it. He sprang from his horse and, as the carriage passed him, leaped into it. Seizing Zuleika by the waist, and holding her tightly to him, he then made another spring, alighting safely with her upon the roadway of the bridge. The flying horses were ultimately stopped and the occupants of the badly shattered vehicle rescued from their dangerous situation. This adventure caused the Count of Monte-Cristo to throw open the doors of his palazzo