Thetheatrewasbeginningtofill；opera-glassesweretakenfromtheircases，andthesubscribers，catchingsightofoneanother，werebowing。Theycametoseekrelaxationinthefineartsaftertheanxietiesofbusiness；but“business“wasnotforgotten；theystilltalkedcottons，spiritsofwine，orindigo。Theheadsofoldmenweretobeseen，inexpressiveandpeaceful，withtheirhairandcomplexionslookinglikesilvermedalstarnishedbysteamoflead。Theyoungbeauxwerestruttingaboutinthepit，showingintheopeningoftheirwaistcoatstheirpinkorapplegreencravats，andMadameBovaryfromaboveadmiredthemleaningontheircaneswithgoldenknobsintheopenpalmoftheiryellowgloves。
Nowthelightsoftheorchestrawerelit，thelustre，letdownfromtheceiling，throwingbytheglimmeringofitsfacetsasuddengaietyoverthetheatre；thenthemusicianscameinoneaftertheother；andfirsttherewastheprotractedhubbubofthebassesgrumbling，violinssqueaking，cornetstrumpeting，flutesandflageoletsfifing。Butthreeknockswereheardonthestage，arollingofdrumsbegan，thebrassinstrumentsplayedsomechords，andthecurtainrising，discoveredacountry-scene。
Itwasthecross-roadsofawood，withafountainshadedbyanoaktotheleft。Peasantsandlordswithplaidsontheirshouldersweresingingahunting-songtogether；thenacaptainsuddenlycameon，whoevokedthespiritofevilbyliftingbothhisarmstoheaven。Anotherappeared；theywentaway，andthehuntersstartedafresh。Shefeltherselftransportedtothereadingofheryouth，intothemidstofWalterScott。SheseemedtohearthroughthemistthesoundoftheScotchbagpipesre-echoingovertheheather。Thenherremembranceofthenovelhelpinghertounderstandthelibretto，shefollowedthestoryphrasebyphrase，whilevaguethoughtsthatcamebacktoherdispersedatonceagainwiththeburstsofmusic。Shegaveherselfuptothelullabyofthemelodies，andfeltallherbeingvibrateasiftheviolinbowsweredrawnoverhernerves。Shehadnoteyesenoughtolookatthecostumes，thescenery，theactors，thepaintedtreesthatshookwhenanyonewalked，andthevelvetcaps，cloaks，swords——allthoseimaginarythingsthatfloatedamidtheharmonyasintheatmosphereofanotherworld。Butayoungwomansteppedforward，throwingapursetoasquireingreen。Shewasleftalone，andtheflutewasheardlikethemurmurofafountainorthewarblingofbirds。LucieattackedhercavatinainGmajorbravely。Sheplainedoflove；shelongedforwings。Emma，too，fleeingfromlife，wouldhavelikedtoflyawayinanembrace。SuddenlyEdgar-Lagardyappeared。
HehadthatsplendidpallorthatgivessomethingofthemajestyofmarbletotheardentracesoftheSouth。Hisvigorousformwastightlycladinabrown-coloureddoublet；asmallchiselledponiardhungagainsthisleftthigh，andhecastroundlaughinglooksshowinghiswhiteteeth。TheysaidthataPolishprincesshavingheardhimsingonenightonthebeachatBiarritz，wherehemendedboats，hadfalleninlovewithhim。Shehadruinedherselfforhim。Hehaddesertedherforotherwomen，andthissentimentalcelebritydidnotfailtoenhancehisartisticreputation。Thediplomaticmummertookcarealwaystoslipintohisadvertisementssomepoeticphraseonthefascinationofhispersonandthesusceptibilityofhissoul。Afineorgan，imperturbablecoolness，moretemperamentthanintelligence，morepowerofemphasisthanofrealsinging，madeupthecharmofthisadmirablecharlatannature，inwhichtherewassomethingofthehairdresserandthetoreador。
>Fromthefirstsceneheevokedenthusiasm。HepressedLucyinhisarms，helefther，hecameback，heseemeddesperate；hehadoutburstsofrage，thenelegiacgurglingsofinfinitesweetness，andthenotesescapedfromhisbareneckfullofsobsandkisses。