“Now bring up all the ladies and place them in chairs; bow to them,” etc., etc.

Thanks to the energy of the cavaliere, and the agility of Baldassare—­who, it is admitted on all hands, had never distinguished himself so much as on this occasion—­all the difficulties of the new figures have been triumphantly surmounted.  Gentlemen had become spokes of a gigantic wheel that whirled round a lady seated on a chair in the centre of the room.  They had been named as roots, trees, and even vegetables; they had answered to such names, seeking corresponding weeds as their partners.  At a clap of the cavaliere’s hands they had dashed off wildly, waltzing.  Gentlemen had worn paper nightcaps, put on masks, and been led about blindfold.  They had crept under chairs, waved flags from tables, thrown up colored balls, and unraveled puzzles—­all to the rhythm of the waltz-measure babbling on like a summer brooklet under the sun, through emerald meadows.

And now the exciting moment of the ribbons is come—­the moment when the best presents are to be produced—­the ribbons—­a sheaf of rainbow-colors, fastened into a strong golden ring, which ring is to be held by a single lady, each gentleman grasping (as best he can) a single ribbon.  As long as the lady seated on the chair in the centre pleases, the gentlemen are to gyrate round her.  When she drops the ring holding the sheaf of ribbons, the Cavaliere Trenta is to clap his hands, and each gentleman is instantly to select that lady who wears a rosette corresponding in color to his ribbon—­the lady in the chair being claimed by her partner.

Nobili has placed Nera Boccarini on the chair in the centre. (Ever since the flavor of that fervid kiss has rested on his lips, Nobili has been lost in a delicious dream.  “Why should not he and Nera dance on—­on—­on—­forever?—­Into indefinite space, if possible—­only together?” He asks himself this question vaguely, as she rests within his arms—­as he drinks in the subtile perfume of the red roses bound in her glossy hair.)

Nera is triumphant.  Nobili is her own!  As she sits in that chair when he has placed her, she is positively radiant.  Love has given an unknown tenderness to her eyes, a more delicate brilliancy to her cheeks, a softness, almost a languor, to her movements. (Look out, acknowledged belle of Lucca—­look out, Teresa Ottolini—­here is a dangerous rival to your supremacy!  If Nobili loves Nera as Nera believes he does—­Nera will ripen quickly into yet more transcendent beauty.)

Now Nobili has left Nera, seated in the chair.  He is distributing the various ribbons among the dancers.  As there are over a hundred couples, and there is some murmuring and struggling to secure certain ladies, who match certain ribbons, this is difficult, and takes time.  See—­it is done; again Nobili retires behind Nera’s chair, to wait the moment when he shall claim her himself.