“Bianca,” he said, as soon as her dresser had left her, and shut the door, “you have made me so miserable to-day.  I must tell you openly at once what is in my heart.  I saw, to-day, at the Corso—­by no means intending to look at all at your carriage after it had passed mine—­I saw my poor flowers thrown away by you, while you were throwing a bouquet to my nephew and receiving from him something thrown in return.  Bianca, is that the conduct of a woman who has the very same morning accepted the hand of another man?  Bianca, I warn you to beware; you do not know what such a love as mine, if it should discover itself to be betrayed, might be capable of.”

“Marchese, do not look at me in that way; you frighten me, and what have I done?  It is all a mistake, entirely a mistake!” said the poor Diva, really frightened at the manner of the Marchese.

“Did I not see you throw the flowers I had given you from your carriage; evidently for the purpose of gratifying another person?”

“Oh, Marchese! how is it possible that such a thought should enter into your head?  Ah, how little you know.  If you knew how I had grieved over the loss of the beautiful bouquet that had come from your hand!  It fell from the carriage by accident; and it was snatched up, and a boy ran off with it, all in a moment; I would have given anything to get it back again.”

“But how came the accident?  It was caused by your leaning out of your carriage to throw a bouquet yourself.”

“Yes, exactly so; to the Marchese Ludovico.  He was the only person to whom I threw a bouquet in all the Corso.”

“And why should you throw one to him?”

“To him,—­to your nephew?  Why not, I should not have thought of doing so to another.  But to him—­”

“And what was it, pray, that he threw to you?  I wonder whether he thought, too, that he should not dream of throwing anything to anybody except you.”

“The Marchese Ludovico threw nothing to me.  Just at the same moment that troublesome idiot, the Conte Leandro, threw a packet into the carriage.  I have not even opened it; you may have it unopened the next time you are in the Strada di Porta Sisi, if you like.  No doubt it contains some of his charming verses.  It is not kind of you, Signor Marchese, to say such things, or to have such thoughts in your head!” said Bianca, turning away her face and putting her handkerchief to her eyes.  “And now,” she added, “you have made my eyes all red just before I have to go on the stage!”

Of course once again the unhappy Marchese was entirely routed, and the Diva was victorious.  “Forgive me, Bianca,”, he whispered; “I think only of you from the morning to the evening, and from the evening to the morning again.  And it would be impossible for any man to love, as I love you, without a liability to jealousy.  I am jealous of your love, Bianca!”

“But it is wonderful that you should not perceive how little cause you have for any such feeling.  Oh, Marchese, how can you doubt me?  Surely you must have seen and known how entirely my love is yours.  You must not wring your poor Bianca’s heart by such cruel suspicions.”