There was nothing at all to cause remark in his thus retiring before
the evening. He never danced;--he happened not to be playing cards
on that evening. It was quite natural that such a man should prefer
going home to bed to remaining with the jeunes gens till the break-
up of the ball.

How he enjoyed that last dance, which he stayed to see, the reader
may perhaps imagine. Standing by a chimney-piece, on one corner of
which he rested his elbow, he in great measure shaded his face with
his hand, yet not so as to prevent him from seeing every movement of
the persons, and every expression of the faces of the couple he was
watching. There was a raging hell in his heart. And yet he stood
there, and gazed eagerly, greedily one would have said. And every
minute, and every movement blasted his eyes and stabbed his heart,
and poured poison into his veins.

When the dance was over he did not move for some time; for he
doubted his power to hold himself upright and walk steadily.
Presently, however, when Ludovico and Bianca had again quitted the
ball-room together, he gathered himself up, and moved slowly away,
shaking in every limb, pale, fever-lipped, and haggard.

The man who gave him his cloak in the ante-room remarked to another
servant, as soon as he was gone, that he would bet that the Marchese
Lamberto would not be at the next Carnival ball.

At six o'clock, with wonderful punctuality for an Italian, Ludovico,
with a neat little bagarino and fast-trotting pony, was at the door
of the Diva's lodging. But Bianca was not ready. Her maid came down
to the door with all sorts of apologies, and assurances that her