This position, as it chanced, brought the Marchese's eye
to bear on the little glass window made in the back of the hood of
the carriage, after the old-fashioned manner of coach-building.
And what he saw through the little window was this.
A something--a white paper packet, it looked like--was in the act of
being thrown to the Diva's carriage from that immediately behind his
own, in which, it will be remembered, were his nephew and the Conte
Leandro; and the Goddess herself was leaning far out of her carriage
in the act of throwing a bouquet to the Marchese Ludovico: The
Marchese Lamberto also saw the magnificent flowers he had himself
just given to Bianca roll from her carriage on to the pavement,--an
accident caused by the movement of her person as she leaned forward
to throw her flowers to the other carriage.
With what an added torment to the hell that raged within him the
unfortunate Marchese returned from that miserable Corso to his
palazzo, may be well imagined.
Nevertheless, there had been as little meaning in what he had seen
as there often is in many things that make the madness of a jealous
man's jealousy.
With the white paper packet--for such it in truth was--the Marchese
Ludovico had nothing whatever to do. It had been thrown by the poet
Leandro, and contained an attempt to improve the occasion after a
fashion, such as he hoped must draw some reply from the Diva.
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