The night of the 15th of May arrived, and both Salvani and Ticellini were very nervous about the first performance of the "Queen of Flowers." La Luciola was certainly the pet of the public, but the situation at Milan was such that it was a question whether the performance at the Scala would receive any attention. Even the day before, there had been very little call for tickets, and Salvani, who had spared no expense to mount the new opera properly, had awful dreams on the night of the 14th about deficits and bankruptcy.

At length, on the morning of the 15th, the demand became heavier, and after a few boxes had been taken, a negro appeared at the box-office about eleven o'clock, and pointed at a pack of tickets.

"Ah—your master desires a box?" asked Salvani, who did not disdain on special days to take charge of the box-office.

The negro laughed, so that the impresario could wonder at his white teeth, and shook his head, pointing once more at the tickets.

"You want two boxes, perhaps?"

Again the negro shook his head.

"Three boxes?"

"No."

"My God, are you dumb?"

An expressive look from the Nubian confirmed the insinuation. He put a roll of bank-notes on the package, and made a motion as if he wished to put the latter in his pocket.

"Do you want to buy the whole package?" asked Salvani, breathlessly.

"Yes," nodded the negro.

The impresario looked doubtingly at him, and said:

"But that is eleven boxes on the first tier, each of which costs fifty lire—"

"Yes."

"Twenty-two boxes on the third tier, at thirty-six lire; and all the boxes on the fourth tier, thirty boxes at twenty-five lire."

Again the Nubian nodded. Salvani began to reckon, and excitedly exclaimed:

"But that is impossible. Are you aware that this is a matter of 2,848 lire?"

Without hesitating, the negro laid the sum of 3,000 lire in bank-notes on the window and put the tickets in his pocket. Thereupon he drew his arm under that of the impresario and pointed to the stage.

"I do not understand," stammered Salvani. "You want to go on the stage?"

"Yes."

"Then follow me."

Salvani walked down a small stairway and soon stood, with the negro, on the dimly lighted stage. The Nubian walked in front of the prompter's box and pointed so expressively toward the parterre and the parquet, that the impresario at once knew what he wanted.

"You want to buy the rest of the seats unsold?" he hastily asked.

"Yes."

"The places cost originally five, four and three lire."

"Yes."

"Well, I would be a fool if I did not take a hand in."

Before the Nubian had departed, he had purchased all of the seats still to be had, for the round sum of 6,000 lire, and with head proudly erect he strode through the streets.

When Ticellini appeared, Salvani triumphantly pointed to the pile of bank-notes, and when the maestro anxiously remarked that he thought it must be a trick of one of his rivals to ruin him, the impresario coolly said:

"Ticellini, would you be able to raise 6,000 lire to annihilate Gioberto and Palmerelli?"

The composer was silent. This kind of logic convinced him.

When the eventful evening came, the Scala looked magnificent.

For the first time since the Austrian occupation, all the aristocratic ladies appeared in full dress. Salvani, as well as the maestro, looked wonderingly at the audience. Very soon, however, their wonder changed to curiosity, for the toilets of the ladies were arranged in a peculiar way. Some were dressed entirely in green satin, with green leaves in their hair; others wore red satin, with red roses, and others again white satin and white flowers; and then the ladies were grouped together in such a way that the tricolor green, white and red always appeared. Ticellini was a patriot from head to foot, and his heart beat loudly when he saw the Italian tricolor.

What could it all mean? A revolution? That would destroy all chances of the success of his opera, but Ticellini did not think of himself, when the fatherland was in question, and he enthusiastically hummed the first lines of the national hymn:

"Chi per la patria muore
Vessuto ha assai!"
(He who has died for his country has lived long enough.)

The parquet and balcony were filled with students, and only one proscenium box was still empty.

A murmur ran through the theatre; the door of the proscenium box was opened and three persons entered it.

A tall, majestic man, whose dark locks inclosed a pale face, led a lady of extraordinary beauty. He was dressed in a frock suit, the lady in purple silk, with a white sash. A diadem of sparkling emeralds ornamented the finely shaped head, and on her neck and arms diamonds of the purest water shone.

A remarkably handsome child, a boy about eight or nine years, took a seat between the lady and gentleman, and it only needed a casual look upon the features of the youth to recognize him as the son of the pair. The box just opposite to them was Radetzky's, and was occupied by his adjutant. Observant of everything which looked like a manifestation or a demonstration, they threw threatening glances at the color constellation, and the confidant of Radetzky immediately sent for Salvani.

The impresario appeared, excited and trembling. Suppose the adjutant should forbid the performance?

"What does this mean?" the officer angrily exclaimed. "Have you noticed the three colors?"

"Your Excellency, I—"

"Well, are you going to answer me?"

"Will your excellency condescend to take a look over the house—"

At the same moment, as Salvani had entered the box, the gentleman in the opposite box had arisen and placed a light blue band over the lady's shoulders. Simultaneously all the other ladies in the house threw sashes over their shoulders; yellow, blue, black, and brown were the colors which met the astonished gaze of the adjutant, and he grumblingly said:

"Wait, canaille, I will not be deceived."

Salvani had hurriedly left. The first notes of the overture ran through the house, and loud applause was heard. This time, too, the gentleman in the proscenium box gave the signal for the applause, but no one appeared to notice it.

Ticellini hurried to La Luciola's dressing-room. The diva was already dressed for her part, and looked so transcendently beautiful that the maestro held his breath.

"Well, maestro," said the diva, laughing, "do I please you, and do you think the opera will be a success?"

"Oh, signora, I have never doubted it, since you consented to take the part of Marguerite."

A dark form came from the rear of the dressing-room, and the Marquis Aslitta went toward Ticellini.

"Let me congratulate you, maestro," he cordially said, offering Ticellini his hand.

Ticellini hesitated before he took it. Aslitta was looked upon in Milan as a renegade, and therefore Ticellini was very glad when he was called away. Bidding good-by to the diva, he hurried back to the stage, and Aslitta remained alone with Luciola.

"Giorgio," whispered Luciola, giving the marquis her hand, "the eventful hour has arrived."

"Thanks, my darling," murmured the young man; "you are staking your existence to save my country—a whole life would not suffice to reward you."

Luciola threw herself into the outstretched arms of Aslitta.

"You love me, Giorgio?"

"Dearly; you are my goddess, my all."

"Oh, Giorgio; nothing shall be too difficult for me to do for you. But go now, the time has come."

"And you have forgotten nothing, and will observe the sign?"

"Be easy, I will think of everything."

"Then farewell; have courage."

"And hope," added Luciola, kissing Aslitta.

At this moment a heavy hand was laid upon Aslitta's shoulder, and a clear voice said:

"Marquis, you should have closed the door."

Aslitta turned hurriedly about. A man stood in front of him, whose appearance was very repulsive.

Count San Pietro had short, red-brown hair, and one of his eyes was always closed; a deep blue scar, reaching from the eye to the left ear, disfigured his otherwise handsome face in a horrible manner. A diabolical smile played upon his lips, and Aslitta grew pale as he recognized the count.

La Luciola, measuring the count with a stern look, said:

"Count, by what right have you come here?"

A malicious smile was the answer, and then San Pietro audaciously said:

"Who will prevent me from coming in?"

"I!" exclaimed Luciola, passionately. "Depart at once."

"Ah, you are defending the marquis."

Aslitta was moved to become angry, but he restrained himself, and laughingly said:

"Why should not others have the right to admire La Luciola?"

The diva trembled, but a look from Aslitta gave her courage, and, trying to appear cool, she said:

"Really, count, you frightened me; I hardly recognized you."

"And the marquis has no need to hide; he can leave that to the conspirators," remarked the count, with a piercing look.

Aslitta met the gaze fearlessly, and indifferently answered, evading the question:

"Count, have you a box for to-night's performance?"

"No, every place was taken when my servant went to the box-office."

"Then do me the honor to take a seat in my box."

"Ah, you were more fortunate than I."

The manager opened the door leading to the stage-row, and exclaimed:

"Signora, your scene begins."

"I am coming," said Luciola, and, passing by the gentlemen, she laughingly said:

"Good-by, and do not forget to applaud."

As soon as she had gone, the gentlemen went toward the auditorium, and on the stairs leading to the boxes Pietro paused and hissed:

"Marquis, you know I shall kill you the first chance I have."

"Really?" asked Aslitta; "have you become so bloodthirsty all of a sudden?"

"No evasions," replied the count. "You love Luciola?"

"Why not?"

"And Luciola loves you?"

"I am not vain enough to imagine your statement to be true."

"Beware, marquis," said the count; "I have eyes."

"So much the better for you."

"And in the dungeons of Milan there are cells, in which patriots are broken on the wheel and forced to name their accomplices—"

"Count," interrupted Aslitta, "there are also dark places in Milan, where Italians who betray their country to the oppressor are shot."

Stepping into his box, Aslitta closed the door in the count's face, and San Pietro was forced to go to the marshal's box.

As San Pietro took his place, La Luciola just appeared on the scene; deafening applause greeted her, and she gratefully bowed.

"Colonel," said San Pietro, turning to the adjutant, "I have to give you the name of a traitor."

"But not now," said the colonel, impatiently; "just listen to that beautiful duet."

The duet between the rose and the daisy was magnificently sung. No one noticed, however, that Luciola threw a look at the gentleman in the proscenium box, directing his attention to that occupied by Radetzky's adjutant. The unknown arose, and cast his sparkling eyes at San Pietro. He then looked down at the stage again, and La Luciola laughed with satisfaction. The duet finished amid applause.

"Colonel," repeated the count again, "Aslitta conspires with the patriots, and—"

"To-morrow—to-morrow, count."

"To-morrow would be too late."

"Then, in the devil's name, speak now and be done with it. What do you wish?"

"That Aslitta be arrested this evening."

"Ah, La Luciola is divine; we must secure her for Vienna!" exclaimed the colonel, enthusiastically. "Will you arrange it?"

"What, your excellency?"

"Are you deaf? We must secure Luciola for Vienna."

"Have Aslitta arrested, and La Luciola will be a member of the Vienna Opera."

"Stupid, what interest has La Luciola in Aslitta?"

"She loves him," hissed the count.

"What! La Luciola disdains our advances, and falls in love with this Neapolitan! That is treason."

"Then your excellency—"

"I give you carte blanche; bring Aslitta to the citadel, but not before the close of the performance; I wish to hear the opera to the end."

The adjutant tore a piece of paper from a note-book, wrote a few lines upon it and gave it to San Pietro. The count gave a diabolical laugh. His course was easy now.

As much as San Pietro had tried, he could not remember whom La Luciola looked like. Thanks to his wound, a blank had occurred in his memory, and certain episodes of his former life were covered with a heavy veil. As he now threw a glance at the opposite box, a part of this veil was torn asunder, and like a dazed person he looked at the gentleman dressed in black. The latter transfixed him likewise. Instinctively the count coughed and hid his face in his handkerchief. He could not meet the gaze of those coal-black eyes.

"No, no," he muttered, anxiously. "No one knows my former name; I would be a fool to get frightened."

As soon as the first act was over, San Pietro turned to an officer and said:

"Do you know the gentleman sitting in the opposite box?"

"Not personally, but from reputation. He is said to be enormously rich."

"What is his name?"

"The Count of Monte-Cristo; his wife, who is sitting next to him, is wonderfully handsome; they say she is a Greek. The pretty boy is their son."

"Thanks," said San Pietro; and then he muttered to himself: "'Tis he; he has a son! This time he will not escape me."

"Do you know the count's political opinions?" said San Pietro, after a pause.

"I only know that immediately after the gentleman's arrival from Naples he sent his negro with his card to Radetzky, asking the marshal to allow him to pay his respects to him."

"That is decisive."

The opera had in the meantime been proceeded with; when the third act began a messenger appeared with an order which called the adjutant to the marshal's house. What could the officers do? The service went before everything else, and they disappeared just as La Luciola, Ruinta, and Signor Tino were singing a beautiful trio.

At length the last scene came; the rose, the proud queen of flowers, assented to the marriage of the pink and the daisy, and a bower of green vines was raised before an altar constructed of evergreens.

Red, white and green! The national colors!

At this moment Monte-Cristo arose and gave the signal. Immediately every one rose and clapped their hands, and he joyously exclaimed:

"Long live Italy! Long live the national flag!"

And then a loud voice thundered above the tumult:

"Fuori i barbari! Away with the foreigners!"

The next minute the students climbed on to the stage and divided the palms. A roar of a thousand voices was heard singing the national hymn:

"Chi per la patria muore
Vessuto ha assai!"

La Luciola was carried in triumph to her coach by the students; the enthusiastic young men took the horses out of the traces and bore the carriage along themselves, shouting through the night air:

"Long live La Luciola! Long live Italy!"