s letters. It was to be impressed upon
him, however, when he entered the hall where the Countess received every
evening. Ardea himself was there, the centre of a group composed of
Alba Steno, Madame Maitland, Fanny Hafner and the wealthy Baron, who,
standing aloof and erect, leaning against a console, seemed like a
beneficent and venerable man in the act of blessing youth. Julien was
not surprised on finding so few persons in the vast salon, any more than
he was surprised at the aspect of the room filled with old tapestry,
bric-a-brac, furniture, flowers, and divans with innumerable cushions.

He had had the entire winter in which to observe the interior of that
house, similar to hundreds of others in Vienna, Madrid, Florence,
Berlin, anywhere, indeed, where the mistress of the house applies
herself to realizing an ideal of Parisian luxury. He had amused himself
many an evening in separating from the almost international framework
local features, those which distinguished the room from others of the
same kind. No human being succeeds in being absolutely factitious in his
home or in his writings. The author had thus noted that the salon bore a
date, that of the Countess's last journey to Paris in 1880. It was to
be seen in the plush and silk of the curtains. The general coloring,
in which green predominated, a liberty egotistical in so brilliant a
blonde, had too warm a tone and betrayed the Italian. Italy was also to
be found in the painted ceiling and in the frieze which ran all around,
as well as in several paintings scattered about. There were two panels
by Moretti de Brescia in the second style of the master, called his
silvery manner, on account of the delicate and transparent fluidity of
the coloring; a 'Souper chez le Pharisien' and a 'Jesus ressuscite sur
le rivage', which could only have come from one of the very old palaces
of a very ancient family. Dorsenne knew all that, and he knew, too, for
what reasons he found almost empty at that time of the year the hall so
animated during the entire winter, the hall through which he had seen
pass a veritable carnival of visitors: great lords, artists, political
men, Russians and Austrians, English and French--pellmell. The
Countess was far from occupying in Rome the social position which her
intelligence, her fortune and her name should have assured her. For,
having been born a Navagero, she combined on her escutcheon the cross of
gold of the Sebastien Navagero who was