“The carriage is at the door,” said he; “my mother has sent it to take you to the theatre; she was going herself, but an arrival has prevented her: she immediately said, ‘Take Lucy in my place.’ Will you go?”

“Just now? I am not dressed,” cried I, glancing despairingly at my dark merino.

“You have half an hour to dress. I should have given you notice, but I only determined on going since five o’clock, when I heard there was to be a genuine regale in the presence of a great actress.”

And he mentioned a name that thrilled me⁠—a name that, in those days, could thrill Europe. It is hushed now; its once restless echoes are all still; she who bore it went years ago to her rest; night and oblivion long since closed above her; but then her day⁠—a day of Sirius⁠—stood at its full height, light and fervour.