The rooms were thronged with black dominoes, and white dominoes, and pink, and scarlet, and blue, and parti-coloured dominoes.  Violante was there in a black domino, and Bianca in a white one.  There was very little dancing, but plenty of chattering and laughing.  One main thing to be done by every person there was to congratulate the host on his new honours.  Our Conte Apollo, among the rest, would fain have read his poem on the occasion.  But as he approached the Marchese for the purpose, a white silk domino, that was standing by the Marchese’s side, burst into such an uncontrollable fit of silvery and most musical, but too evidently uncomplimentary laughter, that the poor god of song was too abashed by it to make head against it.

“Surely never had Apollo such a representative before,” said the Marchese to his companion, as the mortified god turned away.

“The voice, the face, the lyre, and the legs; oh, the legs!” said the silvery voice of the white domino in return.

The words of both speakers had been uttered sotto voce; but the Conte Leandro had unfortunately sharp ears; and not only heard what was said, but was at no loss to recognize the voice of the second speaker.

The poor poet was destined not to find the evening an agreeable one.  A little later he was passing by an ottoman in one of the less crowded rooms, on which the Marchese Ludovico was sitting with the Contessa Violante.  She had, at an early period of the evening, abandoned all pretence of keeping up her incognito, and was dangling her black mask from her finger by its string as she sat talking to Ludovico.  Leandro turned towards them to pay his compliments to the Contessa, and possibly in the hope of being allowed to read his copy of verses.  But here again mortification awaited him.

“What, Aesop, Leandro!  What put it into your head to choose the old story-teller for a model?  You look the part to perfection, it is true; but what is that thing you have got in your hand?”

Again his lordship was fain to retreat.

“What a shame to torment the poor man so, in your own house too, Signor Ludovico,” said Violante, who, nevertheless, could not help laughing.

“Not a bit, he’s used to it.  He is too absurd for anything; an egregious vain ass,” returned Ludovico; with very little precaution to prevent the object of his animadversions from hearing them.  And again Leandro’s acute ears did him the ill service of carrying every word that had been said to his understanding.

“Indeed I think her perfectly charming,” said Violante, in continuation of the conversation, which had been interrupted by the bow-legged vision of Apollo; “extremely pretty of course,—­but a great deal more than that.  She is fresh, ingenuous, modest, full of sensibility, and as honest-hearted as the day.  You are a very fortunate man, Signor Ludovico, to have succeeded in winning such a heart.”

“How came it about at first, that you spoke to her?” asked Ludovico.