es, passed
and repassed along the spacious veranda, which ran the entire length of
the building, carrying fruit, wine, and ices to those who preferred the
balmy air and starry sky without, to the heat and glitter of the crowded
salon within.

With difficulty I made my way through the dense mass that filled the
antechamber, and at length reached one of the reception-rooms, scarcely
less crowded. On every side I beheld some of the highest persons of the
city: groups of officers in splendid uniforms, ambassadors glittering
in orders and crosses, distinguished foreigners, artists, authors, were
all mingled together in thick profusion, enjoying the magnificence
and splendour which unbounded wealth, guided and directed by the
most cultivated taste, could create. Standing in mute admiration of
a beautiful figure of Psyche, which seemed fresh from the chisel of
Canova, I was roused by a voice addressing me, while at the same moment
my shoulder was gently tapped. I turned;--it was the Count himself.

"Ah, Monsieur le Baron," said he, "'_Enfin apres un an!_' as Racine has
it. Where have you buried yourself and all your agreeability these
ages past? But come, I shall not tax your invention for excuses and
apologies; follow me--the Countess has heard me frequently speak of you,
and longs to make your acquaintance. This way--after me as well as you
can."

The friendly tone of the Count, as well as its being almost the first
time of my being addressed by my new title, brought a deep blush to my
cheek, which fortunately was unobserved as I followed him in the crowd.
He passed through this room to one still larger, filled with parties
playing at several small tables, and thence into an oval salon, where
waltzing was going on. With great difficulty we got through this, and
arrived at a curtain of white cloth, fringed at the bottom with deep
and massive silver lace; this he drew gently aside, and we entered the
boudoir. Upon a small ottoman, over which was thrown a rich Persian
shawl, sat the Countess.

"Isadora," said the Count, as he approached--"Isadora, '_carissima
mia_,' this is my friend, Carl Stelling."

She lifted her head from the picture she was shewing to a lady beside
her, and as her eye beamed fully upon me and her lips parted to address
me, I fell fainting to the ground.

"It is!--it is!" I muttered, as the last ray of consciousness was
leaving my whirling brain.

When I recovered, the Count was standing over me ba