“Oh, come!  This is a confidence dans les regles!  And in return for it, Signor Ludovico, do you know—­speaking in all seriousness—­that--if we really do put this wild scheme into execution—­I have a confidence to give you, and may take that opportunity of making it—­ a confidence, not which may or may not be made, like yours, but which I ought to make to you, the necessity of making which furnishes, to say the truth, a very plausible reason for our projected tete-a-tete.”

“Davvero, Signora!  Better and better; I shall be charmed to receive such a mark of your friendship,” said Ludovico, thinking and caring little on what subject it might be that the Diva purposed speaking to him:  “and then, the fact is,” he continued, “that to-morrow morning will be the best morning for the purpose of all the days of the year.  For we shall be quite sure that every soul here will be in bed and asleep.  On the first morning in Lent one is tolerably safe not to fall in with early risers.  Our little trip, you may be very sure, will never be heard of by anybody, unless we choose to tell of it ourselves.”

“And I am sure that I do not see why we should not,” said Bianca.

“I see no reason against telling all the town, for my part,” rejoined Ludovico; “afterwards though—­you understand; and not beforehand, or our little escapade would be spoilt by some blockhead or other insisting on joining us.  Our friend Leandro there, for instance; think of it!”

“The idea is a nightmare!  No; we will not say a word till afterwards.  ’Tis the most charming notion for a finale to a Carnival that ever was conceived.  I make you my compliments on it, Signor Ludovico.”

“So, then, all the `buts’ have been butted and rebutted?” said he.

“Well, I suppose so,”—­by the help of a strong desire to yield to the temptation of so pleasant a scheme, the way `buts’ generally are answered.  “But we cannot go on the expedition as we are, I suppose?” said she.

“I don’t see why not.  I dare say the old pines have seen similar figures beneath them before now.  But you would not be comfortable without changing your dress, and the mornings are still sharp.  This is how it must be.  I will slip away before long, and make all preparation necessary.  I will get a bagarino and a pony—­not from the Castelmare stables, you understand, but from a man I know and can trust—­and I will come with it to the door of your lodging at six o’clock.  You will stay at the ball till the end.  Everybody will go by four o’clock, or soon after.  That will give you plenty of time to change your dress.  By six o’clock every soul in Ravenna will be fast asleep.  We shall drive to a little farm-house I know on the border of the forest, leave our bagarino there, and have our stroll under the trees just as long and as far as is agreeable to you.  Won’t that do?”

“Perfect!  I shall enjoy it amazingly.  I will be sure to be ready when you come at six o’clock.”