A Siren | Page 5

put this wild scheme into execution--I have a confidence
to give you, and may take that opportunity of making it-- a confidence,
not which may or may not be made, like yours, but which I ought to
make to you, the necessity of making which furnishes, to say the truth,
a very plausible reason for our projected tete-a-tete."
"Davvero, Signora! Better and better; I shall be charmed to receive
such a mark of your friendship," said Ludovico, thinking and caring
little on what subject it might be that the Diva purposed speaking to
him: "and then, the fact is," he continued, "that to-morrow morning will
be the best morning for the purpose of all the days of the year. For we
shall be quite sure that every soul here will be in bed and asleep. On the
first morning in Lent one is tolerably safe not to fall in with early risers.
Our little trip, you may be very sure, will never be heard of by anybody,
unless we choose to tell of it ourselves."

"And I am sure that I do not see why we should not," said Bianca.
"I see no reason against telling all the town, for my part," rejoined
Ludovico; "afterwards though--you understand; and not beforehand, or
our little escapade would be spoilt by some blockhead or other insisting
on joining us. Our friend Leandro there, for instance; think of it!"
"The idea is a nightmare! No; we will not say a word till afterwards.
'Tis the most charming notion for a finale to a Carnival that ever was
conceived. I make you my compliments on it, Signor Ludovico."
"So, then, all the `buts' have been butted and rebutted?" said he.
"Well, I suppose so,"--by the help of a strong desire to yield to the
temptation of so pleasant a scheme, the way `buts' generally are
answered. "But we cannot go on the expedition as we are, I suppose?"
said she.
"I don't see why not. I dare say the old pines have seen similar figures
beneath them before now. But you would not be comfortable without
changing your dress, and the mornings are still sharp. This is how it
must be. I will slip away before long, and make all preparation
necessary. I will get a bagarino and a pony--not from the Castelmare
stables, you understand, but from a man I know and can trust--and I
will come with it to the door of your lodging at six o'clock. You will
stay at the ball till the end. Everybody will go by four o'clock, or soon
after. That will give you plenty of time to change your dress. By six
o'clock every soul in Ravenna will be fast asleep. We shall drive to a
little farm-house I know on the border of the forest, leave our bagarino
there, and have our stroll under the trees just as long and as far as is
agreeable to you. Won't that do?"
"Perfect! I shall enjoy it amazingly. I will be sure to be ready when you
come at six o'clock."
"I will be there at six or thereabouts. Now we will go back to the
ball-room; but don't dance till you have not a leg left to stand on. We
must have a good long stroll in the Pineta."

"Lascia fare a me! I dare say I shan't dance another dance--unless,
indeed, we have one more turn together before you go. Is there time?"
"Oh yes, for that plenty of time. If you are not afraid of tiring yourself,
one more last dance by all means."
So giving her his arm, the Marchesino led his beautiful and fascinating
companion back to the ballroom, where the music was again making
the most of the time with another waltz.
CHAPTER II
Apollo Vindex
The Conte Leandro Lombardoni had not passed a pleasant Carnival.
Reconciled, as he had recently professed himself to be--after some one
of the frequent misfortunes that happened to his intercourse with
them--with the fair sex, he had begun his Carnival by attempting to
make his merit acceptable in the eyes of La Lalli; and had failed to
obtain any recognition from her, even as a poet, to say nothing of his
pretensions as a Don Juan. To a certain limited degree, it had been
forced upon his perception, that he had been making an ass of himself;
and the appreciation of that fact by the other young men among whom
he lived had been indicated with that coarse brutality, as the poet said
to himself, which was the outcome of minds not "softened by the study
of the ingenuous arts," as his own was. He had been consistently
snubbed and flouted, he and his poetry, and his love-making, and his
carefully prepared Carnival costumes.
The result was, that