Viola, who was in the character of one who loved, but without return, never felt so acutely the part she played.

Her tears were truthful; her passion that of nature: it was almost too terrible to behold.

She was borne from the stage exhausted and insensible, amidst such a tempest of admiring rapture as Continental audiences alone can raise.

The crowd stood up, handkerchiefs waved, garlands and flowers were thrown on the stage,--men wiped their eyes, and women sobbed aloud.
"By heavens!" said a Neapolitan of great rank, "She has fired me beyond endurance.

To-night--this very night--she shall be mine! You have arranged all, Mascari ?" "All, signor.