“At six o’clock, you say?” asked the Marchese.

“Yes; that was the hour they fixed.  Then he is to drive her to a farm-house on the border of the forest, leave the bagarino there, and go into the wood for a stroll.  Not a bad idea for a wind-up of the Carnival, upon my word!”

“I think you have done very wisely and kindly in telling me this, Signor Conte,” said the Marchese, in as quiet tones as he could command; “and if you will complete your kindness by saying no word of it to anybody else, I shall esteem myself much obliged to you.”

“Oh! for that you may depend on me, Signor Marchese.  I should never have thought of mentioning it to you, but for thinking that it would be a real kindness to Ludovico to put a stop to it.”

“Thanks, Signor Conte.  A rivederla!” said the Marchese, rising.

“Felicissima notte, Signor Marchese,” returned Leandro, rising also, and bowing to his companion.

CHAPTER III

St. Apollinare in Classe

The Marchese remained at the ball to see one more dance between Ludovico and Bianca after their supper; and then left the rooms.  There was nothing at all to cause remark in his thus retiring before the evening.  He never danced;—­he happened not to be playing cards on that evening.  It was quite natural that such a man should prefer going home to bed to remaining with the jeunes gens till the break-up of the ball.

How he enjoyed that last dance, which he stayed to see, the reader may perhaps imagine.  Standing by a chimney-piece, on one corner of which he rested his elbow, he in great measure shaded his face with his hand, yet not so as to prevent him from seeing every movement of the persons, and every expression of the faces of the couple he was watching.  There was a raging hell in his heart.  And yet he stood there, and gazed eagerly, greedily one would have said.  And every minute, and every movement blasted his eyes and stabbed his heart, and poured poison into his veins.

When the dance was over he did not move for some time; for he doubted his power to hold himself upright and walk steadily.  Presently, however, when Ludovico and Bianca had again quitted the ball-room together, he gathered himself up, and moved slowly away, shaking in every limb, pale, fever-lipped, and haggard.

The man who gave him his cloak in the ante-room remarked to another servant, as soon as he was gone, that he would bet that the Marchese Lamberto would not be at the next Carnival ball.

At six o’clock, with wonderful punctuality for an Italian, Ludovico, with a neat little bagarino and fast-trotting pony, was at the door of the Diva’s lodging.  But Bianca was not ready.  Her maid came down to the door with all sorts of apologies, and assurances that her mistress would be ready in a few minutes.  The few minutes, however, became half an hour, as minutes will under such circumstances.  And the result of this delay was that Ludovico and his companion were not the first travellers out of the Porta Nuova that morning.