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.
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