y be happy with Massimilla."

"Well," replied Marco, "then you will be the most envied man on earth.
The Duchess is the most perfect woman in Italy. To me, seeing things as
I do through the dazzling medium of opium, she seems the very highest
expression of art; for nature, without knowing it, has made her a
Raphael picture. Your passion gives no umbrage to Cataneo, who has
handed over to me a thousand crowns, which I am to give to you."

"Well," added Emilio, "whatever you may hear said, I sleep every night
at your house. Come, for every minute spent away from her, when I might
be with her, is torment."

Emilio took his seat at the back of the box and remained there in
silence, listening to the Duchess, enchanted by her wit and beauty. It
was for him, and not out of vanity, that Massimilla lavished the charms
of her conversation bright with Italian wit, in which sarcasm lashed
things but not persons, laughter attacked nothing that was not
laughable, mere trifles were seasoned with Attic salt.

Anywhere else she might have been tiresome. The Italians, an eminently
intelligent race, have no fancy for displaying their talents where they
are not in demand; their chat is perfectly simple and effortless, it
never makes play, as in France, under the lead of a fencing master,
each one flourishing his foil, or, if he has nothing to say, sitting
humiliated.

Conversation sparkles with a delicate and subtle satire that plays
gracefully with familiar facts; and instead of a compromising epigram an
Italian has a glance or a smile of unutterable meaning. They think--and
they are right--that to be expected to understand ideas when they only
seek enjoyment, is a bore.

Indeed, la Vulpato had said to Massimilla:

"If you loved him you would not talk so well."

Emilio took no part in the conversation; he listened and gazed. This
reserve might have led foreigners to suppose that the Prince was a man
of no intelligence,--their impression very commonly of an Italian
in love,--whereas he was simply a lover up to his ears in rapture.
Vendramin sat down by Emilio, opposite the Frenchman, who, as the
stranger, occupied the corner facing the Duchess.

"Is that gentleman drunk?" said the physician in an undertone to
Massimilla, after looking at Vendramin.

"Yes," replied she, simply.

In that land of passion, each passion bears its excuse in itself, and
gracious indulgence is shown to every form of error. The Duchess sighed
deeply,