o give rise to endless gossip. Catching sight of Benedetta,
whom Count Prada had presented to her after his marriage, the Queen, who
greatly admired her beauty and charm of manner, addressed her a smile in
such wise that the young woman was compelled to approach. A conversation
of some minutes' duration ensued, and the Contessina was favoured with
some extremely amiable expressions which were perfectly audible to all
around. Most certainly the Queen was ignorant of the event of the day,
the dissolution of Benedetta's marriage with Prada, and her coming union
with Dario so publicly announced at this _gala_, which now seemed to have
been given to celebrate a double betrothal. Nevertheless that
conversation caused a deep impression; the guests talked of nothing but
the compliments which Benedetta had received from the most virtuous and
intelligent of queens, and her triumph was increased by it all, she
became yet more beautiful and more victorious amidst the happiness she
felt at being at last able to bestow herself on the spouse of her choice,
that happiness which made her look so radiant.

But, on the other hand, the torture which Prada experienced now became
intense. Whilst the sovereigns continued conversing, the Queen with the
ladies who came to pay her their respects, the King with the officers,
diplomatists, and other important personages who approached him, Prada
saw none but Benedetta--Benedetta congratulated, caressed, exalted by
affection and glory. Dario was near her, flushing with pleasure, radiant
like herself. It was for them that this ball had been given, for them
that the lamps shone out, for them that the music played, for them that
the most beautiful women of Rome had bared their bosoms and adorned them
with precious stones. It was for them that their Majesties had entered to
the strains of the Royal March, for them that the _fete_ was becoming
like an apotheosis, for them that a fondly loved queen was smiling,
appearing at that betrothal _gala_ like the good fairy of the nursery
tales, whose coming betokens life-long happiness. And for Prada, this
wondrously brilliant hour when good fortune and joyfulness attained their
apogee, was one of defeat. It was fraught with the victory of that woman
who had refused to be his wife in aught but name, and of that man who now
was about to take her from him: such a public, ostentatious, insulting
victory that it struck him like a buffet in the face. And not merely did