n food and drink that
were obtainable; and we set off, Dolci seated beside the lady and I
beside the chevalier.

I had thought that the lady's sadness would give place, if not to gaiety,
at least to a quiet cheerfulness, but I was mistaken; for, to all my
remarks, grave or gay, she replied, either in monosyllables or in a
severely laconic style. Poor Dolci, who was full of wit, was stupefied.
He thought himself the cause of her melancholy, and was angry with
himself for having innocently cast a shadow on the party of pleasure. I
relieved him of his fears by telling him that when he offered me his
pleasant society I was not aware that I was to be of service to the fair
lady. I added that when at day-break I received this information, I was
pleased that he would have such good company. The lady did not say a
word. She kept silent and gloomy all the time, and gazed to right and
left like one who does not see what is before his [her] eyes.

Dolci felt at ease after my explanation, and did his best to arouse the
lady, but without success. He talked on a variety of topics to the
husband, always giving her an opportunity of joining in, but her lips
remained motionless. She looked like the statue of Pandora before it had
been quickened by the divine flame.

The beauty of her face was perfect; her eyes were of a brilliant blue,
her complexion a delicate mixture of white and red, her arms were as
rounded as a Grace's, her hands plump and well shaped, her figure was
that of a nymph's, giving delightful hints of a magnificent breast; her
hair was a chestnut brown, her foot small: she had all that constitutes a
beautiful woman save that gift of intellect, which makes beauty more
beautiful, and gives a charm to ugliness itself. My vagrant fancy shewed
me her naked form, all seemed ravishing, and yet I thought that though
she might inspire a passing fancy she could not arouse a durable
affection. She might minister to a man's pleasures, she could not make
him happy. I arrived at the isle resolved to trouble myself about her no
more; she might, I thought, be mad, or in despair at finding herself in
the power of a man whom she could not possibly love. I could not help
pitying her, and yet I could not forgive her for consenting to be of a
party which she knew she must spoil by her morose behaviour.

As for the self-styled Chevalier Stuard, I did not trouble my head
whether he were her husband or her lover. He was young,
commonplace-l