As he looked up at
it, the dance-music ceased and not a sound was heard but the stir of the
foliage and the murmur of the river against its banks. Then, from a
loggia above the central portico, a woman's clear contralto notes took
flight:
Before the yellow dawn is up,
With pomp of shield and shaft,
Drink we of Night's fast-ebbing cup
One last delicious draught.
The shadowy wine of Night is sweet,
With subtle slumbrous fumes
Crushed by the Hours' melodious feet
From bloodless elder-blooms...
The days at Bellocchio passed in a series of festivities. The mornings
were spent in drinking chocolate, strolling in the gardens and visiting
the fish-ponds, meanders and other wonders of the villa; thence the
greater number of guests were soon drawn to the card-tables, from which
they rose only to dine; and after an elaborate dinner prepared by a
French cook the whole company set out to explore the country or to
exchange visits with the hosts of the adjoining villas. Each evening
brought some fresh diversion: a comedy or an operetta in the miniature
theatre, an al fresco banquet on the terrace or a ball attended by the
principal families of the neighbourhood. Odo soon contrived to reassure
the Marquess as to his designs upon Miranda, and when Coeur-Volant was
not at cards the two young men spent much of their time together. The
Marquess was never tired of extolling the taste and ingenuity with which
the Venetians planned and carried out their recreations.
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