It was to occur in the
triclinium, or great banquet-hall, of a palace--that of the Lady Lucia.
There were portrait-masks and mural paintings on either wall; ancestral
statues of white marble stood in a row against the red wall; there were
seats and divans of ebony enriched by cunning hands; lamp-holders of
wrought metal standing high as a man's head, and immense violet rugs on
the floor. The heroine wore a white robe banded low with purple, and
her jewelled hair was in fillets of gold. There was always a pretty
artfulness in the match-making of a patrician beauty and her mother.
Indeed, life had grown far from elemental emotions.
"Now, when he enters," said the girl, turning to the Lady Lucia, "I
shall bring him here at once and sit down by this heap of cushions, and
then--Oh, god of my heart! What shall I do with that big man--what
shall I say to him?"
"My dear, he will speak, and then you will know what to say," said the
matron. "Only do not let him know that you love him--at least, not for
a time yet."
"Too late; I fear he knows it now--the wretch!" said Arria, rubbing her
cheeks to make them glow.
Pages:
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74