He must lay aside his violin; he must put on his brocade coat and his lace ruffles.

Here they are,--quick, quick! And quick rolls the gilded coach, and majestic sits the driver, and statelily prance the steeds.

Poor Pisani is lost in a mist of uncomfortable amaze.

He arrives at the theatre; he descends at the great door; he turns round and round, and looks about him and about: he misses something,--where is the violin?
Alas! his soul, his voice, his self of self, is left behind! It is but an automaton that the lackeys conduct up the stairs, through the tier, into the Cardinal's box.

But then, what bursts upon him! Does he dream?
The first act is over (they did not send for him till success seemed no longer doubtful); the first act has decided all.