'Tired? Resting! You're childish, Valeria. Always childish. Childish and meddlesome. Poking your long nose into everything. Some day you'll poke it into something that'll sting it. And what will it look like when it's stung? Have you thought of that?' He laughed derisively, and caught the Countess by the arm. 'Let's leave long-nose and long-shanks. Ha! Ha!' His idiotic laughter shrilled up. He was ravished by his own humour. He let his voice ring out that all might hear and share the enjoyment of his comical conceit. 'Long-nose and long-shanks! Long-nose and long-shanks!
'Said she to him, your long-shanks I adore.
Said he to her, your long-nose I deplore.'
Screaming with laughter he plunged forward to resume the dance, trod upon one of his trailing, exaggerated sleeves, tripped himself, and went sprawling on the tessellated floor, his laughter louder and more idiotic than ever. A dozen ran to lift him.
The Princess tapped Bellarion sharply on the arm with her fan of ostrich-plumes. Her face was like graven stone.
'Come,' she commanded, and passed out ahead of him.
On the terrace she signed to her ladies to fall behind whilst with her companion she moved beyond earshot along the marble balustrade, whose moonlit pallor was here and there splashed by the black tide of trailing plants.
'Now, sir,' she invited in a voice of ice, 'will you explain this new identity and your presence here?'
He answered in calm, level tones: 'My presence explains itself when I tell you that my identity is accepted by his highness the Regent. The son of Facino Cane is not to be denied the hospitality of the Court of Montferrat.'
'Then why did you lie to me when ...'
'No, no. This is the lie. This false identity was as necessary to gain admission here as was the painter's smock I wore yesterday: another lie.'