assassin, a scoundrel, or a dolt, worthless, or worse than worthless;
yet he might have sat to Titian, and his portrait may be inestimable,--a
few inches of painted canvas a thousand times more valuable than a man
with his veins and muscles, brain, will, heart, and intellect!

In this cabinet sat a man of about three and forty,--dark-eyed, sallow,
with short, prominent features, a massive conformation of jaw, and
thick, sensual, but resolute lips; this man was the Prince di --. His
form, middle-sized, but rather inclined to corpulence, was clothed in a
loose dressing-robe of rich brocade; on a table before him lay his sword
and hat, a mask, dice and dice-box, a portfolio, and an inkstand of
silver curiously carved.

"Well, Mascari," said the Prince, looking up towards his parasite, who
stood by the embrasure of the deep-set barricaded window, "well, you
cannot even guess who this insolent meddler was? A pretty person you to
act the part of a Prince's Ruffiano!"

"Am I to be blamed for dulness in not being able to conjecture who had
the courage to thwart the projects of the Prince di --. As well blame
me for not accounting for miracles."

"I will tell thee who it was, most sapient Mascari."

"Who, your Excellency?"

"Zicci."

"Ah! he has the daring of the devil. But why does your Excellency feel
so assured,--does he court the actress?"