“For myself, Signore, little preparation is needed.  But I fear the train of servitors, that befit my condition, will require more leisure for their arrangements.”

“Lady, that embarrassment hath been foreseen, and to remove it, the council hath decided to supply you with the only attendant you will require, during an absence from the city which will be so short.”

“How, Signore! am I to be separated from my people?”

“From the hired menials of your palace, lady, to be confided to those who will serve your person from a nobler motive.”

“And my maternal friend—­my ghostly adviser?”

“They will be permitted to repose from their trusts, during your absence.”

An exclamation from Donna Florinda, and an involuntary movement of the monk, betrayed their mutual concern.  Donna Violetta suppressed the exhibition of her own resentment, and of her wounded affections, by a powerful effort, in which she was greatly sustained by her pride; but she could not entirely conceal the anguish of another sort, that was seated in her eye.

“Do I understand that this prohibition extends to her who in common serves my person?”

“Signora, such are my instructions.”

“Is it expected that Violetta Tiepolo will do these menial offices for herself?”

“Signora, no.  A most excellent and agreeable attendant has been provided for that duty.  Annina,” he continued, approaching the door, “thy noble mistress is impatient to see thee.”

As he spoke, the daughter of the wine-seller appeared.  She wore an air of assumed humility, but it was accompanied by a secret mien, that betrayed independence of the pleasure of her new mistress.

“And this damsel is to be my nearest confidante!” exclaimed Donna Yioletta, after studying the artful and demure countenance of the girl, a moment, with a dislike she did not care to conceal.

“Such hath been the solicitude of your illustrious guardians, lady.  As the damsel is instructed in all that is necessary, I will intrude no longer, but take my leave, recommending that you improve the hours, which are now few, between this and the rising sun, that you may profit by the morning breeze in quitting the city.”

The officer glanced another look around the room, more, however, through habitual caution than any other reason, bowed, and departed.

A profound and sorrowful silence succeeded.  Then the apprehension that Don Camillo might mistake their situation and appear, flashed upon the mind of Violetta, and she hastened to apprise him of the danger, by speaking to the new attendant.

“Thou hast served before this, Annina?” she asked, so loud as to permit the words to be heard in the oratory.

“Never a lady so beautiful and illustrious, Signora.  But I hope to make myself agreeable to one that I hear is kind to all around her.”

“Thou art not new to the flattery of thy class; go then, and acquaint my ancient attendants with this sudden resolution, that I may not disappoint the council by tardiness.  I commit all to thy care, Annina, since thou knowest the pleasure of my guardians—­those without will furnish the means.”