It may be doubted, however, whether on this occasion, at least, the dignified Marchese was satisfied with the position he had thus made for himself.  It would have been too absurd and remarkable for La Bianca to have abstained from dancing and attached herself to him in the ball-room, instead of consorting with the younger folks.  Of course that was entirely out of the question.  But none the less for that was the evening a time of cruel suffering and martyrdom to the Marchese.  Of course he believed that the adoption of so singularly similar a costume by Bianca and his nephew was the result of pre-arranged agreement.  And the thought, and all that his embittered fancy built upon the thought, were making everything around him, and all the prospect of his life before him, utterly intolerable to him.

Ludovico and Bianca had been dancing together for the third time—­a waltz fast and furious, which they had kept up almost incessantly till the music had ceased.  Heated and breathless, he led her out of the ball-room to get some refreshment.  There was a large supper-room which, on the cessation of the waltz, immediately became crowded by other couples bent on a similar errand.  But there had also been established a little subsidiary buffet in a small cabinet at the furthest end of the suite of rooms, for the purpose of drawing off some of the crowd from the main supper-room.  And thither Ludovico led Bianca, thinking to avoid the crush of people rushing in to the larger room.

The young Marchese—­the “Marchesino,” as he was often called, to distinguish him from his uncle, the Marchese Lamberto—­was one of the small committee of the Circolo, who had had the management of all the arrangements for the ball; and was, accordingly, well aware of the whereabouts of this little “succursale” to the supper-room.  But it is probable that the existence of it was unknown to the great majority of the company.  At all events, so it happened, that when Ludovico and Bianca reached it, it was wholly untenanted, save by Dante, in his long red gown, solitarily occupied in cramming himself with pastry.

“What, Dante in exile!” cried Ludovico.  “Pray, Sir Poet, which bolgia was set apart for those who are lost by the `peccato della gola?’ or is a bilious fit in the more immediate future bolgia fearful enough?”

“It is not so bad a bolgia as that appointed some other sins,” said the Conte Leandro, with mouth stuffed with cake, as he moved out of room.

“What an animal it is!” said Ludovico, laughing, as he gave Bianca a glass of champagne, and filled another for himself.

“Take some of this woodcock pie, Signora Bianca?  You must be starved by this time; and I can recommend it.”

“How so?  You have not tasted it yourself yet.”

“No; but I am going to do so.  And my recommendation is based on my knowledge of the qualities of our woodcocks.  They are the finest in the world.  The marshes in the neighbourhood of the Pineta breed them in immense quantities.”