feast.

Dmitry raised the curtain of the loggia door as they approached, and what a
sight met Paul's view!

The whole place had been converted into a bower of roses. The walls were
entirely covered with them. A great couch of deepest red ones was at one
side, fixed in such masses as to be quite resisting and firm. From the roof
chains of roses hung, concealing small lights--while from above the screen
of lilac-bushes in full bloom the moon in all her glory mingled with the
rose-shaded lamps and cast a glamour and unreality over the whole.

The dinner was laid on a table in the centre, and the table was covered
with tuberoses and stephanotis, surrounding the cupid fountain of perfume.
The scent of all these flowers! And the warm summer night! No wonder Paul's
senses quivered with exaltation. No wonder his head swam.

They had scarcely been seated when from the great salon, whose open doors
were hidden by falling trellises of roses, there came the exquisite sounds
of violins, and a boy's plaintive voice. A concert of all sweet airs played
softly to further excite the sense. Paul had not thought such musicians
could be obtained in Venice, and guessed, and rightly, that, like the cook
and the artist who had designed it, they hailed from Paris, to beautify
this night.

Throughout the repast his lady bewildered him with her wild fascination.
Never before had she seemed to collect all her moods into one subtle whole,
cemented together by passionate love. It truly was a night of the gods, and
the exaltation of Paul's spirit had reached its zenith.