he foreign
sovereigns who occasionally spend a week in Rome, and are amusingly
ready to accept the hospitality of Roman princes; most of all, it was
unlike an ordinary garden party, because the Villa Madama is quite
unlike ordinary villas.

Moreover, every one was pleased that such very rich people should not
attempt to surprise society by vulgar display. There were no state
liveries, there were no ostentatious armorial bearings, there was no
overpowering show of silver and gold, there was no Hungarian band
brought expressly from Vienna, nor any fashionable pianist paid to play
about five thousand notes at about a franc apiece, to the great
annoyance of all the people who preferred conversation to music.
Everything was simple, everything was good, everything was beautiful,
from the entrancing view of Rome beyond the yellow river, and of the
undulating Campagna beyond, with the soft hills in the far distance, to
the lovely flowers in the garden; from the flowers without, to the
stately halls within; from their charming frescoes and exquisite white
traceries, to the lovely girl who was the centre, and the reason, and
the soul of it all.

Her mother received the guests out of doors, in the close garden, and
thirty or forty people were already there when Guido d'Este and Lamberti
arrived; for every one came early, fearing lest the air might be chilly
towards sunset. The Countess introduced the men and the young girls to
her daughter, and presented her to the married women. Presently, when
the garden became too full, the people would go back through the house
and wander away about the grounds, lighting up the shadowed hillside
with colour, and filling the air with the sound of their voices. They
would stray far out, as far as the little grove on the knoll, planted in
old times for the old-fashioned sport of netting birds.

Guido had told Cecilia on the previous evening that his friend had
returned from the country and was coming to the villa, and he had again
seen the very slight contraction of her brows at the mere mention of
Lamberti's name. He wondered whether there were not some connection
between what he took for her dislike of Lamberti, and the latter's
strong disinclination to meet her. Perhaps Lamberti had guessed at a
glance that she would not like him. He would of course keep such an
opinion to himself.

Guido watched Cecilia narrowly from the moment she caught sight of him
with Lamberti--so attentively indeed