“There is nothing but music to express love,” said the Duchess, moved by that song as of two rapturous nightingales.
A tear twinkled in Emilio’s eye; Massimilla, sublime in such beauty as beams in Raphael’s Saint-Cecilia, pressed his hand, their knees touched, there was, as it seemed, the blossom of a kiss on her lips. The Prince saw on her blushing face a glow of joy like that which on a summer’s day shines down on the golden harvest; his heart seemed bursting with the tide of blood that rushed to it. He fancied that he could hear an angelic chorus of voices, and he would have given his life to feel the fire of passion which at this hour last night had filled him for the odious Clarina; but he was at the moment hardly conscious of having a body.
Massimilla, much distressed, ascribed this tear, in her guilelessness, to the remark she had made as to Genovese’s cavatina.
“But, carino,” said she in Emilio’s ear, “are not you as far better than every expression of love, as cause is superior to effect?”
After handing the Duchess to her gondola, Emilio waited for Vendramin to go to Florian’s.
The Cafe Florian at Venice is a quite undefinable institution. Merchants transact their business there, and lawyers meet to talk over their most difficult cases. Florian’s is at once an Exchange, a green-room, a newspaper office, a club, a confessional,—and it is so well adapted to the needs of the place that some Venetian women never know what their husband’s business may be, for, if they have a letter to write, they go to write it there.
Spies, of course, abound at Florian’s; but their presence only sharpens Venetian wits, which may here exercise the discretion once so famous. A great many persons spend the whole day at Florian’s; in fact, to some men Florian’s is so much a matter of necessity, that between the acts of an opera they leave the ladies in their boxes and take a turn to hear what is going on there.
While the two friends were walking in the narrow streets of the Merceria they did not speak, for there were too many people; but as they turned into the Piazzi di San Marco, the Prince said:
“Do not go at once to the cafe. Let us walk about; I want to talk to you.”
He related his adventure with Clarina and explained his position. To Vendramin Emilio’s despair seemed so nearly allied to madness that he promised to cure him completely if only he would give him carte blanche to deal with Massimilla. This ray of hope came just in time to save Emilio from drowning himself that night; for, indeed, as he remembered the singer, he felt a horrible wish to go back to her.