again they forgot each other, the dancers, and the moon, and were
totally absorbed in themselves.

"Lady," said Flodoardo, at length, "can there be a greater
misfortune?"

"A misfortune?" said Rosabella, starting as if suddenly awaking from
a dream; "what misfortune, signor? Who is unfortunate?"

"He who is doomed to behold the joys of Elysium and never to possess
them. He who dies of thirst and sees a cup stand full before him,
but which he knows is destined for the lips of another."

"And are you, my lord, this outcast from Elysium? Are you the
thirsty one who stands near the cup which is filled for another? Is
it thus that you wish me to understand your speech?"

"You understand it as I meant: and now tell me, lovely Rosabella,
am I not indeed unfortunate?"

"And where, then, is the Elysium which you must never possess?"

"Where Rosabella is, there is indeed Elysium. You are not offended,
signora?" said Flodoardo, and took her hand with an air of
respectful tenderness. "Has this openness displeased you?"

"You are a native of Florence, Count Flodoardo. In Venice we
dislike this kind of compliment: at least I dislike them, and wish
to hear them from no one less than from you."