arent Grecian robe which only so far
concealed the luxuriant forms of her full figure as to allow them to be
divined--beautiful, with those full, round, and entirely uncovered arms,
with their jewelled bracelets--beautiful, with her graceful neck, her
fully exposed, naked shoulders, and her voluptuously swelling bosom.

She was, in her appearance, a Greek, only her face was not Grecian. It
was wanting in the noble forms, the still cheerfulness and repose of
Grecian beauty, modest even in its voluptuousness. It was only the face
of a sensual and passionate Roman woman, and no Lais would have ventured
such a smile as played upon the dark-red lips of this Roman woman, or
such glowing glances as she shot like arrows from her dark eyes.

Standing before the glass, she viewed herself, her lips murmuring low
words, occasionally turning her eyes from the mirror to the little table
standing near it, upon which lay several open books.

What murmured she, and what read she in those books? Singular! she
was uttering single, isolated, unconnected words, which had nothing in
common with each other but the sound of melody; they were rhymes, but
without connection or sense, without inward mental correlation.

"So," she now said to herself, with a satisfied smile, "I am now
perfectly armed and prepared. All these rhymes ready for use, and I
have not to fear embarrassment in repeating any of them. Ah, they shall
admire me, these good Romans. I will animate and inflame them, and
excite all my enamored cardinals to such an ecstasy that they must
finally prevail upon the silly, obstinate old pope against his own will
to fulfil my only desire. I will attain my end, even if I am compelled
to pawn my honor and my salvation for it! Bah! honor; what can honor be
to a woman? Beauty is our honor, further nothing! And fair, it seems to
me, I yet am! And if I am fair," she more glowingly continued, after
a pause, "how comes it that Carlo has ceased to love me? Ah, the false
one, to betray and desert me when I love him most!"

A dark flush of anger now overspread her cheeks, and threateningly
raising her hands, with compressed lips she continued: "And to desert me
for another woman--me, the pride and delight of all Rome; me, whom all
the princes and cardinals worship! Ah, while thousands lie at my feet,
imploring for a glance or a smile, this little, unknown singer dares to
scorn me and deride my love!"

"And why should he not dare it?" asked a