le they partook of a collation of fruits and ice, the whole band,
following at a distance in the other boat, played the most sweet and
enchanting strains, and the Count, who had again seated himself by
Emily, paid her unremitted attention, and sometimes, in a low
but impassioned voice, uttered compliments which she could not
misunderstand. To avoid them she conversed with Signora Livona, and her
manner to the Count assumed a mild reserve, which, though dignified, was
too gentle to repress his assiduities: he could see, hear, speak to no
person, but Emily while Cavigni observed him now and then, with a look
of displeasure, and Emily, with one of uneasiness. She now wished for
nothing so much as to return to Venice, but it was near mid-night before
the gondolas approached St. Mark's Place, where the voice of gaiety
and song was loud. The busy hum of mingling sounds was heard at a
considerable distance on the water, and, had not a bright moon-light
discovered the city, with its terraces and towers, a stranger would
almost have credited the fabled wonders of Neptune's court, and
believed, that the tumult arose from beneath the waves.

They landed at St. Mark's, where the gaiety of the colonnades and the
beauty of the night, made Madame Montoni willingly submit to the Count's
solicitations to join the promenade, and afterwards to take a supper
with the rest of the party, at his Casino. If any thing could have
dissipated Emily's uneasiness, it would have been the grandeur, gaiety,
and novelty of the surrounding scene, adorned with Palladio's palaces,
and busy with parties of masqueraders.

At length they withdrew to the Casino, which was fitted up with infinite
taste, and where a splendid banquet was prepared; but here Emily's
reserve made the Count perceive, that it was necessary for his interest
to win the favour of Madame Montoni, which, from the condescension she
had already shewn to him, appeared to be an achievement of no great
difficulty. He transferred, therefore, part of his attention from Emily
to her aunt, who felt too much flattered by the distinction even to
disguise her emotion; and before the party broke up, he had entirely
engaged the esteem of Madame Montoni. Whenever he addressed her, her
ungracious countenance relaxed into smiles, and to whatever he proposed
she assented. He invited her, with the rest of the party, to take
coffee, in his box at the opera, on the following evening, and Emily
heard the invit