Such was the state of the mind of the Marchese, while he held his Diva in his arms; and it lasted in full force, almost till he had left the door of her house behind him as he hastened to the palazzo to discharge the Corso duty, which was one of the most prominent functions of his present social position.

And then it seemed as if suddenly,—­with a suddenness equal to that of a tropical sunset,—­the scales had fallen from his eyes, and he was another man.

Great God!  What had he done?  Had he been smitten with sudden madness?  What—­what was the fatal power this fearful woman had over him?  Were then the old witchcraft and philtre tales really true?  Surely he must be the victim of some spell, some horrible enchantment.  Marry her!  Heavens and earth!  He hated her.  He felt as if he could with pleasure take her by that beautiful throat and squeeze the noxious life out of her.

He pressed his burning hand to his yet hotter forehead, as soon as he found himself in the quiet and solitude of his own room, swallowed a large glass of water, and strove to obtain such little command over himself, for the moment at least, as might suffice to enable him to go through the task before him.

A servant knocked at the door and put his head in to announce that the carriages were at the door.  The miserable man started from his chair as if he had been caught in some crime, and answered that he would be down directly.  A second time he swallowed, hastily, a large glass of water, for his throat felt parched with thirst; and then, with a vigorous effort to appear gay and at his ease, which produced only the semblance of a fixed unnatural grin on his face, he went down to the carriage.

It was painful to him to pass between the servants who stood in the hall, painful to have to take his seat by the side of his sister-in-law,—­and most painful of all to meet the gaze of all the town assembled for the Corso.  He could not help thinking that all eyes were turned on him, with glances of surprise and suspicion.  He felt ashamed to meet and be seen by his acquaintances.  He, the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare, who had never, till that hour, known what it was to shun the eye of any man,—­who had been accustomed to be the cynosure of all eyes, and to feel that they were all turned on him with respect and regard.

The occasion, and the part he was expected to fulfil in it, made it necessary for him to recognize and return every minute the salutations and greetings of his friends and those who knew him.  And who in Ravenna did not know the Marchese Lamberto?  There was a good-natured word wanted here, a gallant little phrase there, a salutation with the speaking fingers to this carriage, a more formal bow to the occupants of another, a gracious nod to one person, and a smile to a second.

And all this the unhappy man essayed to perform, as he had so often performed it happily, easily, and successfully in other days.