If, for
instance, the Countess Clarice di Tournanches, whose high-coloured image
reflected itself so complacently in her Venetian toilet-glass, could
have known that the Cavaliere Odo Valsecca's devoted glance saw her
through the medium of a countenance compared to which her own revealed
the most unexpected shortcomings, she might have received him with less
airy petulance of manner. But how could so accomplished a mistress doubt
the permanence of her rule? The Countess Clarice, in singling out young
Odo Valsecca (to the despair of a score of more experienced cavaliers)
had done him an honour that she could no more imagine his resigning than
an adventurer a throne to which he is unexpectedly raised. She was a
finished example of the pretty woman who views the universe as planned
for her convenience. What could go wrong in a world where noble ladies
lived in palaces hung with tapestry and damask, with powdered lacqueys
to wait on them, a turbaned blackamoor to tend their parrots and
monkeys, a coronet-coach at the door to carry them to mass or the
ridotto, and a handsome cicisbeo to display on the promenade? Everything
had combined to strengthen the Countess Clarice's faith in the existing
order of things. Her husband, Count Roberto di Tournanches, was one of
the King's equerries and distinguished for his brilliant career as an
officer of the Piedmontese army--a man marked for the highest favours in
a society where military influences were paramount.
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