Nights of Venice! what a scene was there! The vine-branch chandeliers,
crystal-fruited, which depended from the slender ribs of the ceiling, cast
a rosy dawn of light, deepening the green and crimson of draperies and
carpets, making an air like sunrise in the bowers of a forest. Form and
order were everywhere visible, though unobtrusive. Arch beyond arch, to
fourth apartments, lessening in dimension, with increase of wealth;--
groups of beautiful women, on either hand, seated or half reclined; the
pure or rich hues of their robes blending imperceptibly, or in gorgeous
contrasts, with the soft outlines and colors of their supports; a banquet
for the eyes and the mind; the perfect work of art and culture;--gliding
about and among these, or, with others, springing and revolving in that
monarch of all measures, which blends luxury and purity, until it is
either the one or the other, moved the men.
"That is my work," exclaimed Dalton, unconsciously.
"Not _all_, I think."
"I mean the combinations,--the effect. But see! Honoria will again accept
the Duke's invitation. He is coming to her. Let us prevent it."
He slipped away; and I, remaining at my post of observation, saw him, an
instant later, passing quickly across the floor among the dancers, toward
Honoria. The Duke of Rosecouleur arrived at the same instant before her.
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