about him that contrasted favorably with the effeminate appearance
and affected manners of the _jeunesse dorée_. His voice, too, was a
pleasant voice, and gave a value to all he said. A sunny smile lighted
up his fair-complexioned face, the face old Carlotta had called
"lucky."

"You are very late," the countess had said, with the slightest tone
of annoyance in her voice--fanning herself languidly as she spoke. "My
son has been looking for you."

"It has been my loss, Signora Contessa," replied Nobili, bowing.
"Pardon me. I was delayed. With your permission, I will find your
son." He bowed again, then walked on into the dancing-rooms beyond.

Nobili had come late. "Why should he go at all?" he had asked himself,
sighing, as he sat at home, smoking a solitary cigar. "What was the
Orsetti ball, or any other ball, to him, when Enrica was not there?"

Nevertheless, he did dress, and he did go, telling himself, however,
that he was simply fulfilling a social duty by so doing. Now that he
is here, standing in the ballroom, the incense of the flowers in his
nostrils, the music thrilling in his ear--now that flashing eyes,
flushed cheeks, graceful forms palpitating with the fury of the
dance--and hands with clasping fingers, are turned toward him--does he
still feel regretful--sad? Not in the least.

No sooner had he arrived than he found himself the object of a species
of ovation. This put him into the highest possible spirits. It was
most gratifying. He could not possibly do less than return these
salutations with the same warmth with which they were offered.