From the windows down to the carriages, from the carriages up to the windows the war was eagerly waged; bunches of flowers, and bonbonnières from Spillman's and Nazzari's fly in all directions and scraps of colored paper fall like snow through the air. Then the blare and pipe of a military band came up from the Piazza di Venezia and the maskers crowded in among the carriages. One of the liveliest groups along the Corso was certainly that where the Vulpini children were grouped, with Zinka in their midst, she having undertaken the charge of them at their own earnest entreaty. She and Gabrielle were both laughing with glee, but at the height of their fun they remembered to pay all sorts of little civilities to the half-scared English governess and had stuck a splendid bunch of lilies of the valley in front of her camphor-scented black silk dress. What especially interested the children was watching for Norina's carriage, for they not only recognized the prince who was driving, but knew all his party: Truyn, Siegburg, Sempaly, and as it passed with its four bays the little Vulpinis jumped with delight and chirped and piped like a tree full of birds; the gentlemen waved their hands, smiled, and gallantly aimed bouquets without end at the windows of the palazzo. But all the finest flowers that day were, beyond a doubt, aimed at Zinka. The floor all round her was heaped with snowflakes, and violets, and roses. In her hand she had caught a huge bunch of roses flung up to her by Sempaly.
"Oh, oh!" cried Madame de Gandry, retiring from the window to rest for a few minutes and refresh herself with a sip of wine. "Ah, mademoiselle!" glancing enviously at the mass of blossoms strewn round Zinka, "you have as many bouquets as a prima donna!" Zinka nodded; then, contemplating her hat, which she had thrown off in her excitement, with a whimsical air of regret and pulling the feather straight she said with a mockery of repentance:
"My poor hat will be glad to rest on Ash Wednesday."
"It is perfect, Marie, really perfect, this Roman carnival--a thing never to be forgotten!" exclaimed the Countess Schalingen, coming in from the window. She was a genuine Austrian, always ready to go into ecstasies of enthusiasm.
"It is horrid," answered the princess impatiently. "Under the new government it is nothing but an amusement for the strangers and street boys."
The Barberi have rushed past, and the procession has once more begun to move on but its interest and excitement are over; the crowd in the road begins to thin, and Sempaly, Truyn, Norina, Siegburg, and the general have come in, as agreed, to escort the ladies to the 'Falcone,' The children have all been kissed and sent off to their dinner at home; Gabrielle somewhat ill-pleased at not being allowed to go with the elder party and Truyn himself not liking to part with his little companion. Zinka wishes to comfort Gabrielle by remaining with the little ones, but this was not to be heard of.
"Only too many of us would wish to follow your example," whispers Princess Vulpini, to whom this dinner at a Roman restaurant is detestable.
They are to go on foot, but they are so long getting ready after this little delay that the one peaceful half-hour before the moccoli is lost; by the time they sally into the street the crowd, which had dispersed, is getting denser every minute. The darkness comes on rapidly, like a grey curtain let down suddenly from the skies; the gaudy hangings are being taken in from the windows lest they should catch fire; the carnival is putting on its ball-dress. Now the first twinkling tapers are seen here and there, like glow-worms in the dusk, and are instantly pelted with mazetti and bunches of greenery, mostly picked up from the pavement "Fuori! fuori!" is the monotonous cry on every side, and presently: "senza moccolo, vergogna!"--the death cries of the carnival.
The Austrian gentlemen find their position anything rather than pleasant, for it is impossible to protect the ladies effectually against being jostled and pushed, still less against hearing much rough jesting. At last they are out of the Corso and have divided in the narrow streets; some having turned into the Via Maddalena, while others have crossed the Piazza Capranica to the Piazza della Rotunda; but at last they are all met after various small adventures at the 'Falcone.' The ladies' toilets have suffered a little and Princess Vulpini looks very unhappy.
The 'Falcone' is a very unpretending restaurant where the waiters wear white jackets; the tariff is moderate and the risotto celebrated. Vulpini orders a thoroughly Italian dinner in an upper room.