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. Camille, who accompanied him, guessed the order thus
conveyed, which bowed the head of the luckless Beatrix. She looked at
Calyste, and felt sure that the youth had fallen into some trap in
spite of her advice. This conviction became certainty when the
evidently happy Breton came up to bid Beatrix good-night, kissing her
hand, and pressing it with a little air of happy confidence.

By the time Calyste had reached Guerande, the servants were packing
Conti's travelling-carriage, and "by dawn," as the song had said, the
composer was carrying Beatrix away with Camille's horses to the first
relay. The morning twilight enabled Madame de Rochefide to see
Guerande, its towers, whitened by the dawn, shining out upon the still
dark sky. Melancholy thoughts possessed her; she was leaving there one
of the sweetest flowers of all her life,--a pure love, such as a young
girl dreams of; the only true love she had ever known or was ever to
conceive of. The woman of the world obeyed the laws of the world; she
sacrificed love to their demands just as many women sacrifice it to
religion or to duty. Sometimes mere pride can rise in acts as high as
virtue. Read thus, this history is that of many women.

The next morning Calyste went to Les Touches about mid-day. When he