re are some strongly blended natures on which extremes of joy or
of grief have a soporific effect. Now on a youth so compounded that he
could idealize his mistress to the point of ceasing to think of her as
a woman, this sudden incursion of wealth had the effect of a dose of
opium. When the Prince had drunk the whole of the bottle of port, eaten
half a fish and some portion of a French pate, he felt an irresistible
longing for bed. Perhaps he was suffering from a double intoxication.
So he pulled off the counterpane, opened the bed, undressed in a pretty
dressing-room, and lay down to meditate on destiny.

"I forgot poor Carmagnola," said he; "but my cook and butler will have
provided for him."

At this juncture, a waiting-woman came in, lightly humming an air from
the _Barbiere_. She tossed a woman's dress on a chair, a whole outfit
for the night, and said as she did so:

"Here they come!"

And in fact a few minutes later a young lady came in, dressed in the
latest French style, who might have sat for some English fancy portrait
engraved for a _Forget-me-not_, a _Belle Assemblee_, or a _Book of
Beauty_.

The Prince shivered with delight and with fear, for, as you know, he was
in love with Massimilla. But, in spite of this faith in love which fired
his blood, and which of old inspired the painters of Spain, which gave
Italy her Madonnas, created Michael Angelo's statues and Ghilberti's
doors of the Baptistery,--desire had him in its toils, and agitated him
without infusing into his heart that warm, ethereal glow which he felt
at a look or a word from the Duchess. His soul, his heart, his reason,
every impulse of his will, revolted at the thought of an infidelity; and
yet that brutal, unreasoning infidelity domineered over his spirit. But
the woman was not alone.

The Prince saw one of those figures in which nobody believes when
they are transferred from real life, where we wonder at them, to the
imaginary existence of a more or less literary description. The dress of
this stranger, like that of all Neapolitans, displayed five colors,
if the black of his hat may count for a color; his trousers were
olive-brown, his red waistcoat shone with gilt buttons, his coat was
greenish, and his linen was more yellow than white. This personage
seemed to have made it his business to verify the Neapolitan as
represented by Gerolamo on the stage of his puppet show. His eyes looked
like glass beads. His nose, like the ace of club