cancan of the day). Something in the face and figure
of the girl recalled Nera to him, or he fancied it--his mind being
full of her. Nobili envied Herod in a dreamy way, who, with round,
leaden eyes, a crown upon his head--watched the dancing girl as she
flung about her lissome limbs. Nobili envied Herod--and the thought
came across him, how pleasant it would be to sit royally enthroned,
and see Nera gambol so! From that--quicker than I can write it--his
thoughts traveled backward to that night when he had danced with Nera
at the Orsetti ball. Again the refrain of that waltz buzzed in
his ear. Again the measure rose and fell in floods of luscious
sweetness--again Nera lay within his arms--her breath was on his
cheek--the perfume of the flowers in her flossy hair was wafted in the
air--the blood stirred in his veins.

The old man said truly. All the way up the second stair was lit by
little lamps, fed by mouldy oil; and all the way up that waltz rang
in Nobili's ear. It mounted to his brain like fumes of new wine tapped
from the skin. A green door of faded baize faced him on the upper
landing, and another bell--a red tassel fastened to a bit of whipcord.
He rang it hastily. This time a servant came promptly. He carried in
his hand a lamp of brass.

"Did the ladies receive?"

"They did," was the answer; and the servant held the lamp aloft to
light Nobili into the anteroom.

This anteroom was as naked as a barrack. The walls were painted in
a Raphaelesque pattern, the coronet and arms of the Boccarini in the
centre.

Count Nobili and the servant passed through many lofty rooms of faded
splendor. Chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, and reflected the
light of the brass lamp on a thousand crystal facets. The tall mirrors
in the antique frames repeated it. In a cavern-like saloon, hung with
rows of dark pictures upon amber satin, Nobili and the servant stopped
before a door. The servant knocked; A voice said, "Enter." It was the
voice of Marchesa Boccarini. She was sitting with her three daughters.
A lamp, with a colored shade, stood in the centre of a small room,
bearing some aspect of life and comfort. The marchesa and two of her
daughters were working at some mysterious garments, which rapidly
vanished out of sight. Nera was leaning back on a sofa, superbly
idle--staring idly at an opposite window, where the daylight still
lingered. When Count Nobili was announced, they all rose and spoke
together with the loud