“He will be ravished?” said she, with a smile, advancing to meet him with the proud and imposing dignity of a queen.
“You are beautiful as a goddess!” exclaimed the cardinal, “and whoever sees you thus has seen the protecting divinity of ancient Rome, the sublime Juno, queen of heaven!”
“Were I Juno, would you consent to be my Vulcan?” roguishly asked Corilla.
“No,” said Albani, laughing; “the noble Juno was not exactly true to her Vulcan, and I require a faithful love! Would you be that, Corilla?”
“We shall see,” said she, changing the arrangement of the diadem before the glass—“we shall see, my worthy friend. But forget not the conditions—first the laurel-crown!”
“You shall have it!” triumphantly responded the cardinal.
“Are you certain of that?” asked Corilla, with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks.
Cardinal Francesco Albani smiled mysteriously.
“Pope Ganganelli is ill,” said he, “and it is thought he will die!”