“Well, we shall know soon,” sighed the youth, heavily. “Is not this an inn, Billy?”
“Ay is it, but not one for our purpose,—it's like a palace. They told me of the 'Leone d'Oro' as a quiet place and cheap.”
“I don't care where or what it be; one day and night here will do all I want. And then for Genoa, Billy, and the sea, and the world beyond the sea,” said the youth, with increasing animation. “You shall see what a different fellow I'll be when I throw behind me forever the traditions of this dreary life here.”
“I know well the good stuff that's in ye,” said the other, affectionately.
“Ay, but you don't know that I have energy as well as pride,” said the other.
“There's nothing beyond your reach if you will only strive to get it,” said he again, in the same voice.
“You're an arrant flatterer, old boy,” cried the youth, throwing his arm around him; “but I would not have you otherwise for the world. There is a happiness even in the self-deception of your praise that I could not deny myself.”
Thus chatting, they arrived at the humble door of the “Leone d'Oro,” where they installed themselves for the night. It was a house frequented by couriers and vetturini, and at the common table for this company they now took their places for supper. The Carnival was just drawing to its close, and all the gayeties of that merry season were going forward. Nothing was talked of but the brilliant festivities of the city, the splendid balls of the Court, and the magnificent receptions in the houses of the nobility.
“The Palazzo della Torre takes the lead of all,” said one. “There were upwards of three thousand masks there this evening, I 'm told, and the gardens were just as full as the salons.”
“She is rich enough to afford it well,” cried another. “I counted twenty servants in white and gold liveries on the stairs alone.”