As he sat revolving these questions the yew-branches seemed to stir, and from some deeper recess of shade a figure stole to his side.  He started, but a hand was laid on his lips and he was gently forced back into his seat.  Dazzled by the outer moonlight he could just guess the outline of the figure pressed against his own.  He sat speechless, yielding to the charm of the moment, till suddenly he felt a rapid kiss and the visitor vanished as mysteriously as she had come.  He sprang up to follow, but inclination failed with his first step.  Let the spell of mystery remain unbroken!  He sank down on the seat again lulled by dreamy musings...

When he looked up the moonlight had faded and he felt a chill in the air.  He walked out on the terrace.  The moon hung low and the tree-tops were beginning to tremble.  The villa-front was grey, with oblongs of yellow light marking the windows of the ball-room.  As he looked up at it, the dance-music ceased and not a sound was heard but the stir of the foliage and the murmur of the river against its banks.  Then, from a loggia above the central portico, a woman’s clear contralto notes took flight: 

    Before the yellow dawn is up,
    With pomp of shield and shaft,
    Drink we of Night’s fast-ebbing cup
    One last delicious draught.

    The shadowy wine of Night is sweet,
    With subtle slumbrous fumes
    Crushed by the Hours’ melodious feet
    From bloodless elder-blooms...

The days at Bellocchio passed in a series of festivities.  The mornings were spent in drinking chocolate, strolling in the gardens and visiting the fish-ponds, meanders and other wonders of the villa; thence the greater number of guests were soon drawn to the card-tables, from which they rose only to dine; and after an elaborate dinner prepared by a French cook the whole company set out to explore the country or to exchange visits with the hosts of the adjoining villas.  Each evening brought some fresh diversion:  a comedy or an operetta in the miniature theatre, an al fresco banquet on the terrace or a ball attended by the principal families of the neighbourhood.  Odo soon contrived to reassure the Marquess as to his designs upon Miranda, and when Coeur-Volant was not at cards the two young men spent much of their time together.  The Marquess was never tired of extolling the taste and ingenuity with which the Venetians planned and carried out their recreations.  “Nature herself,” said he, “seems the accomplice of their merry-making, and in no other surroundings could man’s natural craving for diversion find so graceful and poetic an expression.”