not pistols, with a foolish husband. Why cannot he grin and bear
it?--others do.

But to return to Teresa. She is courtesying very low to the Countess
Orsetti. Although it is well known that these ladies hate each other,
Countess Orsetti receives Teresa with a special welcome, kisses her
on both cheeks, addresses more compliments to her, and makes her more
courtesies than to any one else. How beautiful she is, the Ottolini,
with those white flowers twisted into the braids of her chestnut
hair!--those large, lazy eyes, too--like sleeping volcanoes!--Count
Orsetti thinks her beautiful, clearly; for, under the full battery of
his mother's glances, he advances to meet her, blushing like a girl.
He presses Teresa's hand, and whispers in her ear that "she must
not forget her promise about the cotillon. He has lived upon it ever
since." Her reply has apparently satisfied him, for the honest fellow
breaks out all over into smiles and bows and amorous glances. Then
she passes on, the fair Teresa, like a queen, followed by looks of
unmistakable admiration--much more unmistakable looks of admiration
than would be permitted elsewhere; but we are in Italy, where men are
born artists and have artistic feelings.

The men, as a rule, are neither as distinguished looking nor as well
dressed as the women. The type of the Lucchese nobleman is dark,
short, and commonplace--rustic is the word.

There is the usual crowding in doorways, and appropriation of seats
whence arrivals can be seen and criticised. But there is no line
of melancholy young girls wanting partners. The gentlemen decidedly
predominate, and all the ladies, except Teresa Ottolini and the
Boccarini, are married.