ment
he served, and hurried to meet the friends whom his goodness and
intelligence had procured for him in the city. We loved particularly to
hear him speak of Venice. He had seen it as an artist, had deplored its
servitude, and had come to love it as much as a Venetian. He never
wearied of traversing it night and day, and of admiring it. He wished,
he said, to know it better than those whose good fortune it was to have
been born there. In his nocturnal rambles he encountered the Mask. At
first he paid no great attention to her, but having soon noticed that
she appeared to study the city with the same curiosity as himself, he
was struck with this strange coincidence, and spoke of it to several
persons. They related to him the stories which were afloat concerning
the veiled woman, and advised him to beware of her. But, as he was brave
even to rashness, these warnings, instead of frightening him, excited
his curiosity, and inspired him with a mad desire to make the
acquaintance of the mysterious personage who so terrified the vulgar.
Wishing to keep toward the Mask the same incognito which she preserved
toward him, he dressed himself as a citizen and continued his nocturnal
excursions. He was not long in meeting what he sought. He saw under a
beautiful moonlight the masked woman standing before the charming church
of Santi Giovanni e Paolo. She seemed to contemplate with adoration the
delicate ornaments which decorated its portal. The count silently and
slowly approached her. She did not appear to notice him, and did not
stir. The count, who had stopped a moment to see if he were discovered,
moved on again and came close to her. He heard her utter a profound
sigh, and as he knew Venetian very badly, but Italian very well, he
addressed her in pure Tuscan. 'Salutation,' said he--'salutation and
happiness to those who love Venice.'

"'Who are you?' replied the Mask, with a voice full and sonorous as a
man's, but sweet as a nightingale's.

"'I am a lover of beauty.'

"'Are you one of those whose brutal love does violence to free beauty,
or of those who kneel before captive beauty and weep for its sorrows?'

"'When the king of the night sees the rose flourish joyously beneath the
breath of the breeze, he flaps his wings and sings: when he sees her
wither beneath the hurrying blast of the storm, he hides his head under
his wing and shudders. Thus does my love.'

"'Follow me, then, for thou art one of the faithful.' And gra