“If Leandro begins to read, I vote we all are seized with an invincible fit of sneezing,” said another of the grown-up children.

“Well, we may as well begin at once; I will go and tell the Contessa Violante that we are ready,” said Ludovico, moving off.

It was a matter of course, that he should open the ball with the Contessa Violante,—­not only by reason of her social standing in the city, but because of the position in which he was understood to stand towards her.

Violante was sitting at the upper end of the room between her great-aunt and the sister of the Marchese Lamberto, Ludovico’s mother.  She was very handsomely dressed in plain white silk, but was looking pale and dispirited.  When Ludovico came up and offered his arm, bowing low as he did so, she rose and accepted it without speaking.

“I had almost made up my mind,” she said as soon as they had moved a pace or two towards the middle of the large ball-room, “not to dance at all to-night:  I am not well.”

“Oh, Signorina, how unfortunate!  What a disappointment!  But it would be cruel to force you to dance, when it is against your inclination,” said Ludovico, with a very unsuccessful attempt to put a tone of tenderness into his voice.

“I will not do so, after this dance,” said Violante; “but I suppose we must dance the first dance together!”

“I am sorry it should be a matter of such disagreeable duty to you, Signora Violante,” said Ludovico in a tone of pretended pique.

“It is equally disagreeable to me to dance with any other partner; I am not well, as I have told you, Signor Ludovico; I have no business to be here; I think my health becomes weaker from day to day.  And the blessed Saints only know when it may be possible to think of carrying into effect the arrangements desired by our parents!”

“I am sure that mine would not wish to urge you on the subject to—­ to decide more quickly than you would wish to.  I can assure you, Signora, nothing would be more contrary to my own feelings than to do any such violence to yours.  Indeed I may say—­”

“Yes, yes!  I think I understand all about it, Signor Ludovico.  Might it not be possible to find means of pleasing all parties in this matter, if only all parties understood each other, Signor Ludovico?”

She dropped her voice almost to a whisper as she said these last words, with a rapid furtive glance at his face.

“And now,” she added, speaking in a louder tone, we had better give our minds to the present scene of the farce, and perform the opening quadrille, as is expected of us!”

“I am truly sorry, Signora, that you should be called upon to do this sort of thing, when you are so unwell, as to make it even more disagreeable than it might be to you otherwise.  But believe me,” continued he, speaking in a low voice, and with an emphasis that indicated that his words had reference rather to what she had spoken to him in a similar tone than to the words of his own which had immediately preceded them,—­“believe me that it is my wish to meet your wishes in all respects.”