"Women are so
distrustful; those two will wonder how we can sit here together
without tearing each other's hair out; they are even capable of coming
down to listen. I'll serve you faithfully, my dear boy. You'll see me
rough and jealous with the marquise; I shall seem to suspect her;
there's no better way to drive a woman to betray you. You will be
happy, and I shall be free. Seem to pity that angel for belonging to a
man without delicacy; show her a tear--for you can weep, you are still
young. I, alas! can weep no more; and that's a great advantage lost."
Calyste and Conti went up to Camille's salon. The composer, begged by
his young rival to sing, gave them that greatest of musical
masterpieces viewed as execution, the famous "/Pria che spunti
l'aurora/," which Rubini himself never attempted without trembling,
and which had often been Conti's triumph. Never was his singing more
extraordinary than on this occasion, when so many feelings were
contending in his breast. Calyste was in ecstasy. As Conti sang the
first words of the cavatina, he looked intently at the marquise,
giving to those words a cruel signification which was fully
understood.
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