which overarched the dancers with what seemed like an Olympian revel reflected in sunset clouds.  Over the gilt balustrade surmounting the cornice lolled the figures of fauns, bacchantes, nereids and tritons, hovered over by a cloud of amorini blown like rose-leaves across a rosy sky, while in the centre of the dome Apollo burst in his chariot through the mists of dawn, escorted by a fantastic procession of the human races.  These alien subjects of the sun—­a fur-clad Laplander, a turbaned figure on a dromedary, a blackamoor and a plumed American Indian—­were in turn surrounded by a rout of Maenads and Silenuses, whose flushed advance was checked by the breaking of cool green waves, through which boys wreathed with coral and seaweed disported themselves among shoals of flashing dolphins.  It was as though the genius of Pleasure had poured all the riches of his inexhaustible realm on the heads of the revellers below.

The Procuratessa brought Odo to earth by remarking that it was a master-piece of the divine Tiepolo he was admiring.  She added that at Bellocchio all formalities were dispensed with, and begged him to observe that, in the rooms opening into the saloon, recreations were provided for every taste.  In one of these apartments silver trays were set out with sherbets, cakes, and fruit cooled in snow, while in another stood gaming-tables around which the greater number of the company were already gathering for tresette.  A third room was devoted to music; and hither Mirandolina, who was evidently allowed a familiarity of intercourse not accorded to the other comedians, had withdrawn with the pacified Marquess, and perched on the arm of a high gilt chair was pinching the strings of a guitar and humming the first notes of a boatman’s song...

After completing the circuit of the rooms Odo stepped out on the terrace, which was now bathed in the whiteness of a soaring moon.  The colonnades detached against silver-misted foliage, the gardens spectrally outspread, seemed to enclose him in a magic circle of loveliness which the first ray of daylight must dispel.  He wandered on, drawn to the depths of shade on the lower terraces.  The hush grew deeper, the murmur of the river more mysterious.  A yew-arbour invited him and he seated himself on the bench niched in its inmost dusk.  Seen through the black arch of the arbour the moonlight lay like snow on parterres and statues.  He thought of Maria Clementina, and of the delight she would have felt in such a scene as he had just left.  Then the remembrance of Mirandolina’s blandishments stole over him and spite of himself he smiled at the Marquess’s discomfiture.  Though he was in no humour for an intrigue his fancy was not proof against the romance of his surroundings, and it seemed to him that Miranda’s eyes had never been so bright or her smile so full of provocation.  No wonder Frattanto followed her like a lost soul and the Marquess abandoned Rome and Baalbec to sit at the feet of such a teacher!  Had not that light philosopher after all chosen the true way and guessed the Sphinx’s riddle?  Why should today always be jilted for tomorrow, sensation sacrificed to thought?