fifty carriages gleamed through the water and the darkness, and the
coachmen, of all dimensions and characters, sat beneath their huge
umbrellas and growled to each other, envying the lot of the footmen who
were congregated in the ante-chamber up-stairs around the great bronze
braziers. But in the reception-rooms there was much light and warmth;
there were bright fires and softly shaded lamps; velvet-footed servants
stealing softly among the guests, with immense burdens of tea and cake;
men of more or less celebrity chatting about politics in corners; women
of more or less beauty gossiping over their tea, or flirting, or wishing
they had somebody to flirt with; people of many nations and ideas, with
a goodly leaven of Romans. They all seemed endeavouring to get away from
the men and women of their own nationality, in order to amuse themselves
with the difficulties of conversation in languages not their own. Whether
they amused themselves or not is of small importance; but as they were
all willing to find themselves together twice a-day for the five months
of the Roman season--from the first improvised dance before Christmas,
to the last set ball in the warm April weather after Easter--it may be
argued that they did not dislike each other's society. In case the
afternoon should seem dull, his Excellency had engaged the services of
Signor Strillone, the singer. From time to time he struck a few chords
upon the grand piano, and gave forth a song of his own composition in
loud and passionate tones, varied with, very sudden effects of extreme
pianissimo, which occasionally surprised some one who was trying to make
his conversation heard above the music.

There was a little knot of people standing about the door of the great
drawing-room. Some of them were watching their opportunity to slip away
unperceived; others had just arrived, and were making a survey of the
scene to ascertain the exact position of their Excellencies, and of the
persons they most desired to avoid, before coming forward. Suddenly, just