ed in a barbarous jargon, a scarcely intelligible
compound of English, French, and Italian.

For a moment everybody was speaking at once--a chorus through which now
and then the fresh laughter of the Marchesa rang like silver bells.

'I am sure I have seen you before--I cannot remember when and I cannot
remember where, but I am certain I have seen you,' Andrea Sperelli was
saying to the duchess as he stood before her. 'When I saw you going
upstairs in front of me, a vague recollection rose up in my mind,
something that took shape from the rhythm of your movements as a picture
grows out of a melody. I did not succeed in making the recollection
clear, but when you turned round, I felt that your profile answered
incontestably to that picture. It could not have been a divination,
therefore it must have been some obscure phenomenon of memory. I must
have seen you somewhere before--who knows--perhaps in a dream--perhaps
in another world, a previous existence--'

As he pronounced this last decidedly hackneyed, not to say silly remark,
Andrea laughed frankly as if to forestall the lady's smile, whether of
incredulity or irony. But Elena remained perfectly serious. Was she
listening, or was she thinking of something else? Did she accept that
kind of speech, or was she, by her gravity, amusing herself at his
expense? Did she intend assisting him in the scheme of seduction he had
begun with so much care, or was she going to shut herself up in
indifference and silence? In short, was she or was she not the sort of
woman to succumb to his attack? Perplexed, disconcerted, Andrea examined
the mystery from all sides. Most men, especially those who adopt bold
methods of warfare, are well acquainted with this perplexity which
certain women excite by their silence.

A servant threw open the great doors leading to the dining-room.

The Marchesa took the arm of Don Filippo del Monte and led the way.

'Come,' said Elena, and it seemed to Andrea that she leaned upon his arm
with a certain abandon--or was it merely an illusion of his
desire?--perhaps. He continued in doubt and suspense, but every moment
that passed drew him deeper within the sweet enchantment, and with every
instant he became more desperately anxious to read the mystery of this
woman's heart.

'Here, cousin,' said Francesca, pointing him to a place at one end of
the oval table, between the Baron d'Isola and the Duchess of Scerni with
the Cavaliere Sakumi as his _vis-a-vi