“Look, madame la comtesse,” she said, “we shall have a magnificent day to-morrow; and the air is so clear that you can plainly see the island of Alicari, although the day is drawing to a close.”
“Yes, yes, the air is refreshing; give me your arm, Teresa; I will try if I can drag myself as far as the window.”
The attendant approached her mistress, who replaced on the table the refreshment her lips had scarcely touched, and, resting on Teresa’s shoulder, walked languidly towards the balcony.
“How this delightful breeze revives one,” she observed, as she inhaled the evening air; “bring me my chair, and open the other window that looks into the garden,—that will do. Has the prince returned from Montreal?”
“Not yet, my lady,” replied Teresa.
“So much the better; I would not have him see me in this wretched state, so pale and weak: I must look dreadfully.”
“Madame la comtesse never looked more beautiful than at this moment, and I am certain that in the whole city we see from this window, there is not a woman who would not be jealous of your ladyship.”
“Do you include the Marchioness of Rudini and the Princess of Butera?”
“I except no one,” replied the attendant.
“Ah, I see the prince has been bribing you to flatter me, Teresa.”