ejection from the doors, as on one occasion did unfortunately happen
to an English peeress, who, ignorant of Italian customs, went to an
evening reception in Rome arrayed in a very low bodice with straps
instead of sleeves. Her remonstrances were vain; she was politely but
firmly refused admittance, though told she might gain her point by
changing her costume, which I believe she wisely did.

Some of the grandes dames present at the ball that night wore dresses
the like of which are seldom or never seen out of Italy--robes sown
with jewels, and thick with wondrous embroidery, such as have been
handed down from generation to generation through hundreds of years. As
an example of this, the Duchess of Marina's cloth of gold train,
stitched with small rubies and seed-pearls, had formerly belonged to
the family of Lorenzo de Medici. Such garments as these, when they are
part of the property of a great house, are worn only on particular
occasions, perhaps once in a year; and then they are laid carefully by
and sedulously protected from dust and moths and damp, receiving as
much attention as the priceless pictures and books of a famous
historical mansion. Nothing ever designed by any great modern tailor or
milliner can hope to compete with the magnificent workmanship and
durable material of the festa dresses that are locked preciously away
in the old oaken coffers of the greatest Italian families--dresses that
are beyond valuation, because of the romances and tragedies attached to
them, and which, when worn, make all the costliest fripperies of to-day
look flimsy and paltry beside them, like the attempts of a servant to
dress as tastefully as her mistress.

Such glitter of gold and silver, such scintillations from the burning
eyes of jewels, such cloud-like wreaths of floating laces, such subtle
odors of rare and exquisite perfume, all things that most keenly prick
and stimulate the senses were round me in fullest force this
night--this one dazzling, supreme and terrible night, that was destined
to burn into my brain like a seal of scorching fire. Yes; till I die,
that night will remain with me as though it were a breathing, sentient
thing; and after death, who knows whether it may not uplift itself in
some tangible, awful shape, and confront me with its flashing
mock-luster, and the black heart of its true meaning in its menacing
eyes, to take its drear place by the side of my abandoned soul through
all eternity! I remember