, for Arundel Dacre, was really pretty
well.

The Duke was now glad that he had a small reunion this evening, as he
could at once pay a courtesy to his foreign friends. He ran into the
Signora's dressing-room, to assure her of his presence. He stumbled
upon Peacock Piggott as he came out, and summoned him to fill the vacant
place of St. Maurice, and then sent him with a message to some friends
who yet lingered in their box, and whose presence, he thought, might be
an agreeable addition to the party.

You entered the Alhambra by a Saracenic cloister, from the ceiling of
which an occasional lamp threw a gleam upon some Eastern arms hung up
against the wall. This passage led to the armoury, a room of moderate
dimensions, but hung with rich contents. Many an inlaid breastplate,
many a Mameluke scimitar and Damascus blade, many a gemmed pistol
and pearl-embroidered saddle, might there be seen, though viewed in a
subdued and quiet light. All seemed hushed, and still, and shrouded in
what had the reputation of being a palace of pleasure.

In this chamber assembled the expected guests. And having all arrived,
they proceeded down a small gallery to the banqueting-room. The room
was large and lofty. It was fitted up as an Eastern tent. The walls
were hung with scarlet cloth, tied up with ropes of gold. Round the room
crouched recumbent lions richly gilt, who grasped in their paws a lance,
the top of which was a coloured lamp. The ceiling was emblazoned with
the Hauteville arms, and was radiant with burnished gold. A cresset lamp
was suspended from the centre of the shield, and not only emitted an
equable flow of soft though brilliant light, but also, as the aromatic
oil wasted away, distilled an exquisite perfume.

The table blazed with golden plate, for the Bird of Paradise loved
splendour. At the end of the room, under a canopy and upon a throne, the
shield and vases lately executed for his Grace now appeared. Everything
was gorgeous, costly, and imposing; but there was no pretence, save
in the original outline, at maintaining the Oriental character. The
furniture was French; and opposite the throne Canova's Hebe, bounded
with a golden cup from a pedestal of ormolu.

The guests are seated; but after a few minutes the servants withdraw.
Small tables of ebony and silver, and dumb waiters of ivory and gold,
conveniently stored, are at hand, and Spiridion never leaves the room.
The repast was refined, exquisite, various. It wa