er, and she had that air of
native majesty that is characteristic of Italian women.

La Tinti--whose name also resembled that which the French singer
assumed--was now seventeen, and the poor Prince three-and-twenty. What
mocking hand had thought it sport to bring the match so near the powder?
A fragrant room hung with rose-colored silk and brilliant with wax
lights, a bed dressed in lace, a silent palace, and Venice! Two young
and beautiful creatures! every ravishment at once.

Emilio snatched up his trousers, jumped out of bed, escaped into the
dressing-room, put on his clothes, came back and hurried to the door.

These were his thoughts while dressing:--

"Massimilla, beloved daughter of the Doni, in whom Italian beauty is
an hereditary prerogative, you who are worthy of the portrait of
_Margherita_, one of the few canvases painted entirely by Raphael to his
glory! My beautiful and saintly mistress, shall I not have deserved
you if I fly from this abyss of flowers? Should I be worthy of you if
I profaned a heart that is wholly yours? No; I will not fall into the
vulgar snare laid for me by my rebellious senses! This girl has her
Duke, mine be my Duchess!"

As he lifted the curtain, he heard a moan. The heroic lover looked round
and saw Clarina on her knees, her face hidden in the bed, choking with
sobs. Is it to be believed? The singer was lovelier kneeling thus, her
face invisible, than even in her confusion with a glowing countenance.
Her hair, which had fallen over her shoulders, her Magdalen-like
attitude, the disorder of her half-unfastened dress,--the whole picture
had been composed by the devil, who, as is well known, is a fine
colorist.

The Prince put his arm round the weeping girl, who slipped from him like
a snake, and clung to one foot, pressing it to her beautiful bosom.

"Will you explain to me," said he, shaking his foot to free it from
her embrace, "how you happen to be in my palazzo? How the impoverished
Emilio Memmi--"

"Emilio Memmi!" cried Tinti, rising. "You said you were a Prince."

"A Prince since yesterday."

"You are in love with the Duchess Cataneo!" said she, looking at him
from head to foot.

Emilio stood mute, seeing that the prima dona was smiling at him through
her tears.

"Your Highness does not know that the man who had me trained for the
stage--that the Duke--is Cataneo himself. And your friend Vendramini,
thinking to do you a service, let him this palace for a thousand