In the meantime the conversation among the guests had become more general.  Noblemen and bankers, merchants and literary men, manufacturers and artists, were mingling with each other; rank and condition were disregarded, and the animated conversation of the company resounded through the hall like the humming of a swarm of bees.

At this moment the servants entered, bringing silver waiters on which were wines of every description, pastry, cakes, rare fruits, and other refreshments.

They passed through the room offering the wines to the guests.

“Gentlemen, a glass of Malmsey, Rhenish wine, claret, sherry, Muscatel?”

Whilst these delicious drinks and delicacies were thus distributed, Geronimo never lost sight of Mr. Van de Werve, but observed him with an eye full of hope and expectation.

When at last he saw Mr. Van de Werve leave the room, a bright smile illumined his face.  Geronimo knew that Mr. Van de Werve sometimes gratified his friends and acquaintances by allowing his beautiful daughter to be present at their evening reunion for about an hour, and he had been impatiently awaiting the moment when the young girl would appear.

Simon Turchi, although apparently so unmoved, had constantly watched Mary’s betrothed, noticed the radiant expression of his countenance, and understood the cause.

Mary was coming!  Perhaps the whole company would know that his suit had been rejected, and that Geronimo had succeeded where the powerful administrator of the house of Buonvisi had failed!

This thought deeply wounded his pride.  He scowled at Geronimo, who was looking in another direction.  Rage and jealousy goaded him almost to madness; he felt that the scar on his face, by its deepening hue, would betray his emotion, and to conceal it he covered his eyes with his hand.

Deodati asked him with interest: 

“What is the matter, Signor Turchi?  Are you ill?”

“The heat is intolerable,” said Simon, endeavoring to master his feelings.

“Heat?” murmured Deodati; “it does not seem to me very warm.  Shall I accompany you for a few moments to the garden, signor?”

But Turchi raised his head, and smiling in an unconcerned manner, said: 

“Many thanks, signor, for your kindness.  I feel much better.  I had been looking too long at the large lustre, and its brilliant light made me dizzy.  But let us rise, signor, there is the beautiful Mary, la bionda maraviglia!”

Mr. Van de Werve appeared at this moment at the door, and introduced his beloved child.  A murmur of admiration ran through the assembly, and room was made for the father and daughter.

The beauty of Mary surpassed all expectation.  Her dress consisted of a flowing robe of silver-colored satin, with no other ornament than a girdle of gold thread.  Her own blonde hair was arranged around her head in the form of a crown, in the centre of which were placed some white flowers fastened by choice pearls.  But the admiration of the spectators was excited by her large blue eyes, her brilliant complexion, the dignified sweetness of her expression, the gentle, innocent, modest smile which mirrored on her face the peace and joy of her soul.