“You are a native of Florence, Count Flodoardo. In Venice we dislike this kind of compliment: at least I dislike them, and wish to hear them from no one less than from you.”
“By my life, signora, I spoke but as I thought! my words concealed no flattery.”
“See, the Doge enters the saloon with Manfrone and Lomellino: he will seek us among the dancers. Come, let us join them.”
Flodoardo followed her in silence. The dance began. Heavens! how lovely looked Rosabella, as she glided along to the sweet sounds of music, conducted by Flodoardo. How handsome looked Flodoardo, as, lighter than air, he flew down the dance, while his brilliant eyes saw no object but Rosabella.
He was still without his mask, and bareheaded: but every eye glanced away from the helmets and _barettes_, waving with plumes, and sparkling with jewels, to gaze on Flodoardo’s raven locks, as they floated on the air in wild luxuriance. A murmur of admiration rose from every corner of the saloon, but it rose unmarked by those who were the objects of it. Neither Rosabella nor Flodoardo at that moment formed a wish to be applauded, except by each other.
TWO evenings had elapsed since the Doge’s entertainment. On the second, Parozzi sat in his own apartment, with Memmo and Falieri. Dimly burnt the lights; lowering and tempestuous were the skies without; gloomy and fearful were the souls of the libertines within.
_Parozzi_ (after a long silence).—What, are you both dreaming? Ho, there, Memmo, Falieri, fill your goblets.
_Memmo_ (with indifference).—Well, to please you—. But I care not for wine to-night.
_Falieri_.—Nor I. Methinks it tastes like vinegar: yet the wine itself is good: ’tis our ill temper spoils it.
_Parozzi_.—Not a trace of them can be found. It is enough to kill one with vexation.
_Falieri_.—And in the meanwhile the time runs out, our projects will get wind, and then we shall sit quietly in the State prisons of Venice, objects of derision to the populace and ourselves. I could tear my flesh for anger. (A universal silence.)
_Parozzi_ (striking his hand against the table passionately).—Flodoardo, Flodoardo.
_Falieri_.—In a couple of hours I must attend the Cardinal Gonzaga, and what intelligence shall I have to give him?