Flodoardo.--I know all this, and to know it rejoices me, since it affords me an opportunity of convincing the Doge of Venice, that my actions are not those of a common adventurer.
Andreas.--Perform your promise, and then let me hear of you. For the present our discourse shall end here, for no unpleasant thoughts must disturb the joy to which this day is dedicated. Rosabella, would you not like to join the dancers? Count, I confide her to your care.
Flodoardo.--I could not be entrusted with a more precious charge.
Rosabella, during this conversation, had been leaning against the back of her uncle's chair. She repeated to herself Lomellino's assertion, "that to see Flodoardo, and not to like him, was as difficult as to look at Paradise and not wish to enter;" and while she gazed on the youth, she allowed that Lomellino had not exaggerated. When her uncle desired Flodoardo to conduct her to the dancers, a soft blush overspread her cheek, and she doubted whether she should accept or decline the hand which was immediately offered.
And to tell you my real opinion, my fair ladies, I suspect that very few of you would have been more collected than Rosabella, had you found yourselves similarly situated. In truth, such a form as Flodoardo's; a countenance whose physiognomy seemed a passport at once to the hearts of all who examined it; features so exquisitely fashioned that the artist who wished to execute a model of manly beauty, had he imitated them, would have had nothing to supply or improve; features, every one of which spoke so clearly, "The bosom of this youth contains the heart of a hero." Ah, ladies, my dear ladies, a man like this might well make some little confusion in the head and heart of a poor young girl, tender and unsuspicious!
Flodoardo took Rosabella's hand, and led her into the ball-room.
Here all was mirth and splendour, the roofs re-echoed with the full swell of harmony, and the floor trembled beneath the multitude of dancers, who formed a thousand beautiful groups by the blaze of innumerable lustres. Yes, Flodoardo and Rosabella passed on in silence till they reached the extreme end of the great saloon. Here they stopped, and remained before an open window. Some minutes passed, and still they spoke not. Sometimes they gazed on each other, sometimes on the dancers, sometimes on the moon; and then again they forgot each other, the dancers, and the moon, and were totally absorbed in themselves.
"Lady," said Flodoardo, at length, "can there be a greater misfortune?""A misfortune?" said Rosabella, starting as if suddenly awaking from a dream; "what misfortune, signor? Who is unfortunate?""He who is doomed to behold the joys of Elysium and never to possess them. He who dies of thirst and sees a cup stand full before him, but which he knows is destined for the lips of another.""And are you, my lord, this outcast from Elysium? Are you the thirsty one who stands near the cup which is filled for another? Is it thus that you wish me to understand your speech?""You understand it as I meant: and now tell me, lovely Rosabella, am I not indeed unfortunate?""And where, then, is the Elysium which you must never possess?""Where Rosabella is, there is indeed Elysium. You are not offended, signora?" said Flodoardo, and took her hand with an air of respectful tenderness. "Has this openness displeased you?""You are a native of Florence, Count Flodoardo. In Venice we dislike this kind of compliment: at least I dislike them, and wish to hear them from no one less than from you.""By my life, signora, I spoke but as I thought! my words concealed no flattery.""See, the Doge enters the saloon with Manfrone and Lomellino: he will seek us among the dancers. Come, let us join them."Flodoardo followed her in silence. The dance began. Heavens! how lovely looked Rosabella, as she glided along to the sweet sounds of music, conducted by Flodoardo. How handsome looked Flodoardo, as, lighter than air, he flew down the dance, while his brilliant eyes saw no object but Rosabella.
He was still without his mask, and bareheaded: but every eye glanced away from the helmets and barettes, waving with plumes, and sparkling with jewels, to gaze on Flodoardo's raven locks, as they floated on the air in wild luxuriance. A murmur of admiration rose from every corner of the saloon, but it rose unmarked by those who were the objects of it. Neither Rosabella nor Flodoardo at that moment formed a wish to be applauded, except by each other.
