attendant giants threw open folding doors at the farther end of the
court, and the bright visions disappeared into a long gallery on the
ground-floor, painted in brilliant frescoes, to the reception-room.
The suite of rooms on the ground-floor are the summer apartments,
specially arranged for air and coolness. Rustic chairs stand against
walls painted with fruit and flowers, the stems and leaves represented
as growing out of the floor, as at Pompeii. The whole saloon is like
a _parterre_. Settees, sofas, and cozy Paris chairs covered with rich
satins, are placed under arbors of light-gilt trellis-work, wreathed
with exquisite creepers in full flower. Palms, orange and lemon trees,
flowering cacti, and large-leaved cane-plants, are grouped about;
consoles and marble tables, covered with the loveliest cut flowers.

Near the door, in the first of these floral saloons where sweet scents
made the air heavy, stands the Countess Orsetti. Although she had
certainly passed that great female climacteric, forty, a stately
presence, white skin, abundant hair, and good features treated
artistically, gave her still a certain claim to matronly beauty. She
greets each guest with compliments and phrases which would have been
deemed excessive out of Italy. Here in Lucca, where she met most of
her guests every day, these compliments and phrases were not only
excessive, but wearisome and out of place. Yet such is the custom of
the country, and to such fulsome flattery do the language and common
usage lend themselves. Countess Orsetti, therefore, is not responsible
for this absurdity.

Her son is beside her. He is short, stout, and smiling, with a
hesitating manner, and a habit of referring every thing to his
magnificent mamma. Away from his mamma, he is frank, talkative, and
amusing. It is to be hoped that he will marry soon, and escape from