“Ay, then we shall see our little Leandro duly appreciated at last!” said the Barone Manutoli.  “As soon as the Diva has found time to read the poem there will come another little pink note, adorably perfumed:  he will be summoned to her august presence, and installed as her poet in ordinary, and who knows what else besides,—­her Magnus Apollo?  It is a pity there are not eight other prime donne to make up the sacred number.  Then we should see our Leandro in his true position and vocation.  Give me a sheet of paper, and I will show you a new presentation of Apollo and the Muses.  They are all presenting him with pasticcerie and bonbons.  He has one hand on the lyre, and the other on his stomach, for the homage of the goddesses has made him somewhat sick; his eyes, you observe, are cast heavenwards, partly by reason of poetic inspiration, and partly by reason of nausea!”

“Bravo! bravo, Manutoli!” cried a chorus of voices.

“Envy and jealousy, envy and jealousy, all envy and jealousy.  It is pitiable to see what they can reduce men to,” cried the poet, foaming at the mouth.

“Never mind them, Leandro mio—­never mind them.  It is the universal penalty of true merit, you know; the same thing all the world over,” said Ludovico.

“But, I say, Ludovico,” rejoined Manutoli, “in the meantime, till our Leandro’s poem shall have been read and duly appreciated, you are the only one who has been admitted to the privacy of La Lalli.  What is your report to us Gentiles of the outer court?  Is she really so unapproachable?  And is she as adorable behind the scenes as before them?”

“Well, you ought to be able to answer that question yourself, Manutoli,” replied Ludovico; “you were with lo zio and me that day when we went out to meet her; I am sure you had a fair look at her then.”

“A look?  Yes; and I looked all I could look.  I saw a charming face, younger and fresher looking than might have been expected from the length of time she has been on the boards,—­a very pretty figure, as far as her travelling-dress would show it one; and the loveliest foot and ankle I ever saw in my life.  I could swear to that again at any time.  Don’t you remember how she stood with her foot down on the step, when she was getting out of the carriage.  I thought at the time that she knew what she was about very well.”

“Of course she did.  Do you think they don’t always know very well, every one of them, off the stage or on the stage?” said Farini.

“But I want to know what sort of body, she is?” returned Manutoli; “I don’t need to be told that she is a very lovely woman; but of what sort is she?  Why does she keep us all at a distance?  What is her game?”

“Upon my life I don’t know,” answered Ludovico, “unless it’s a devouring passion for Leandro.  I protest I have no reason to think she cares a button for anything but her own art.  I never tried; but it’s my impression that if I had ever whispered a word in her ear I should have got a flea in my own for my pains.”