al
gentlemen below. She gazed in an astonishment that made her remain at
the window, regardless of being observed, till the group passed under
it; and, one of the strangers looking up, she perceived the features of
Signora Livona, with whose manners she had been so much charmed, the day
after her arrival at Venice, and who had been there introduced at the
table of Montoni. This discovery occasioned her an emotion of doubtful
joy; for it was matter of joy and comfort to know, that a person, of a
mind so gentle, as that of Signora Livona seemed to be, was near her;
yet there was something so extraordinary in her being at this castle,
circumstanced as it now was, and evidently, by the gaiety of her air,
with her own consent, that a very painful surmise arose, concerning her
character. But the thought was so shocking to Emily, whose affection the
fascinating manners of the Signora had won, and appeared so improbable,
when she remembered these manners, that she dismissed it almost
instantly.

On Annette's appearance, however, she enquired, concerning these
strangers; and the former was as eager to tell, as Emily was to learn.

'They are just come, ma'amselle,' said Annette, 'with two Signors from
Venice, and I was glad to see such Christian faces once again.--But
what can they mean by coming here? They must surely be stark mad to come
freely to such a place as this! Yet they do come freely, for they seem
merry enough, I am sure.'

'They were taken prisoners, perhaps?' said Emily.

'Taken prisoners!' exclaimed Annette; 'no, indeed, ma'amselle, not they.
I remember one of them very well at Venice: she came two or three times,
to the Signor's you know, ma'amselle, and it was said, but I did not
believe a word of it--it was said, that the Signor liked her better than
he should do. Then why, says I, bring her to my lady? Very true, said
Ludovico; but he looked as if he knew more, too.'

Emily desired Annette would endeavour to learn who these ladies were, as
well as all she could concerning them; and she then changed the subject,
and spoke of distant France.

'Ah, ma'amselle! we shall never see it more!' said Annette, almost
weeping.--'I must come on my travels, forsooth!'

Emily tried to sooth and to cheer her, with a hope, in which she
scarcely herself indulged.

'How--how, ma'amselle, could you leave France, and leave Mons.
Valancourt, too?' said Annette, sobbing. 'I--I--am sure, if Ludovico had
been in France, I wou