despise.

"Ah, signor," said she, in Italian, "I am so glad to see you; it is a
relief, indeed, to find genius in a crowd of nothings."

So saying, the heiress seated herself on one of those convenient couches
which hold but two, and beckoned the Italian to her side. Oh, how the
vain heart of Castruccio Cesarini beat!--what visions of love, rank,
wealth, already flitted before him!

"I almost fancy," said Castruccio, "that the old days of romance are
returned, when a queen could turn from princes and warriors to listen to
a troubadour."

"Troubadours are now more rare than warriors and princes," replied
Florence, with gay animation, which contrasted strongly with the
coldness she had manifested to the Duke of ------, "and therefore it
would not now be a very great merit in a queen to fly from dulness and
insipidity to poetry and wit."

"Ah, say not wit," said Cesarini; "wit is incompatible with the
grave character of deep feelings;--incompatible with enthusiasm, with
worship;--incompatible with the thoughts that wait upon Lady Florence
Lascelles."

Florence coloured and slightly frowned; but the immense distinction
between her position and that of the young foreigner, with her own
inexperience, both of real life and the presumption of vain hearts,
made her presently forget the flattery that would have offended her in
another. She turned the conversation, however, into general channels,
and she talked of Italian poetry with a warmth and eloquence worthy of
the theme. While they thus conversed, a new guest had arrived, who, from
the spot where he stood, engaged with Lord Saxingham, fixed a steady and
scrutinising gaze upon the pair.

"Lady Florence has indeed improved," said this new guest. "I could not
have conceived that England boasted any one half so beautiful."

"She certainly is handsome, my dear Lumley,--the Lascelles cast of
countenance," replied Lord Saxingham, "and so gifted! She is positively
learned--quite a _bas bleu_. I tremble to think of the crowd of poets
and painters who will make a fortune out of her enthusiasm. _Entre
nous_, Lumley, I could wish her married to a man of sober sense, like
the Duke of ------; for sober sense is exactly what she wants. Do
observe, she has been sitting just half an hour flirting with that
odd-looking adventurer, a Signor Cesarini, merely because he writes
sonnets and wears a dress like a stage-player!"

"It is the weakness of the sex, my dear lord," said Lumley;