exclusively with the _Whys_ and _Hows_. _Where does he come from? Who
are they? What's the matter with him? What has she done?_ They lowered
their voices and walked away in order to talk more at their ease on
some retired couch. Never was a more promising mine laid open to
seekers after mysteries. No one knew from what country the Lanty
family came, nor to what source--commerce, extortion, piracy, or
inheritance--they owed a fortune estimated at several millions. All
the members of the family spoke Italian, French, Spanish, English, and
German, with sufficient fluency to lead one to suppose that they had
lived long among those different peoples. Were they gypsies? were they
buccaneers?

"Suppose they're the devil himself," said divers young politicians,
"they entertain mighty well."

"The Comte de Lanty may have plundered some _Casbah_ for all I care; I
would like to marry his daughter!" cried a philosopher.

Who would not have married Marianina, a girl of sixteen, whose beauty
realized the fabulous conceptions of Oriental poets! Like the Sultan's
daughter in the tale of the _Wonderful Lamp_, she should have remained
always veiled. Her singing obscured the imperfect talents of the
Malibrans, the Sontags, and the Fodors, in whom some one dominant
quality always mars the perfection of the whole; whereas Marianina
combined in equal degree purity of tone, exquisite feeling, accuracy
of time and intonation, science, soul, and delicacy. She was the type
of that hidden poesy, the link which connects all the arts and which
always eludes those who seek it. Modest, sweet, well-informed, and
clever, none could eclipse Marianina unless it was her mother.