The ball at Casa Orsetti was much canvassed in Lucca.  Hospitality is by no means a cardinal virtue in Italy.  Even in the greatest houses, the bread and salt of the Arab is not offered to you—­or, if offered at all, appears in the shape of such dangerously acid lemonade or such weak tea, it is best avoided.  Every year there are dances at the Casino dei Nobili, during the Carnival, and there are veglioni, or balls, at the theatre, where ladies go masked and in dominoes, but do not dance; but these annual dissipations are paid for by ticket.  A general reception, therefore, including dancing, supper, and champagne, gratis, was an event.

The Orsetti Palace, a huge square edifice of reddish-gray stone, with overtopping roof, four tiers of lofty windows, and a broad arched entrance, or portone, with dark-green doors, stands in the street of San Michele.  You pass it, going from the railway-station to the city-gate (where the Lucchese lions keep guard), and the road leads onward to the peaked mountains over Spezia.

On the evening of the ball the entire street of San Michele was hung with Chinese lanterns, arranged in festoons.  Opposite the entrance shone a gigantic star of gas.  The palace itself was a blaze of light.  As the night was warm, every window was thrown open; chandeliers—­scintillating like jeweled fountains—­hung from the ceilings; wax-lights innumerable, in gilded sconces, were grouped upon the walls; crimson-silk curtains cast a ruddy glare across the street, and the sound of harps and violins floated through the night air.  The crowd of beggars and idlers, generally gathered in the street, saw so much that they might be considered to “assist,” in an independent but festive capacity, at the entertainment from outside.  Matches were hawked about for the convenience of the male portion of this extempore assembly, and fruit in baskets was on sale for the women.  “Cigars—­cigars of quality!”—­“Good fruit—­ripe fruit!” were cries audible even in the ballroom; and a fine aroma of coarse tobacco mounted rapidly upward to the illuminated windows.

Within the archway groups of servants were ranged in the Orsetti livery.  Also a magnificent personage, not to be classed with any of the other domestics, wearing a silver chain with a key passed across his breast.  The personage called a major-domo, in the discharge of his duty, divested the ladies of their shawls, and arranged their draperies.

All this was witnessed with much glee by the plebs outside—­the men smoking, the women eating and talking.  As the guests arrived in rapid succession, the plebs pressed more and more forward, until at last some of the boldest stood within the threshold.  The giants in livery not only tolerated this, but might be said to observe them individually with favor—­seeing how much of their admiration was bestowed on themselves and their fine clothes.  The major-domo also, with amiable condescension, affected not to notice them—­no, not even when one tall fellow, a butcher, with eyes as black as sloes, a pipe in his mouth, and a coarse cloak wrapped round him, took off his hat to the Princess Cardeneff, as she passed by him glittering with diamonds, and cried in her face, “Oh! bella, bella!”