It was painful to him to pass between the servants who stood in the hall, painful to have to take his seat by the side of his sister-in-law,--and most painful of all to meet the gaze of all the town assembled for the Corso. He could not help thinking that all eyes were turned on him, with glances of surprise and suspicion. He felt ashamed to meet and be seen by his acquaintances. He, the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare, who had never, till that hour, known what it was to shun the eye of any man,--who had been accustomed to be the cynosure of all eyes, and to feel that they were all turned on him with respect and regard. The occasion, and the part he was expected to fulfil in it, made it necessary for him to recognize and return every minute the salutations and greetings of his friends and those who knew him. And who in Ravenna did not know the Marchese Lamberto? There was a good-natured word wanted here, a gallant little phrase there, a salutation with the speaking fingers to this carriage, a more formal bow to the occupants of another, a gracious nod to one person, and a smile to a second. And all this the unhappy man essayed to perform, as he had so often performed it happily, easily, and successfully in other days. It was impossible for anybody, whose eye rested on the Marchese for an instant, as he sat amid the flowers in his carriage, to avoid seeing that there was something wrong with him--that he was very unlike his usual self. And every eye, as the carriages passed each other in the long procession, forming two lines as one passed down the street while the other moved in the contrary direction, did rest on him. But it never for an instant entered into the head of a single human being there, to guess at anything like the real cause of the change in the Marchese. "Time begins to tell on the Marchese; he takes too much out of himself; always busy--no rest--a bad thing!" said one. "The Marchese Lamberto looks knocked up with this carnival. Quite time for him that Lent was come," said another. "The fact is that the Marchese is growing old, and he wants more rest. He has not a minute to himself,--too many irons in the fire at once, said a third. "I dare say he has been worried out of his life in getting this new Opera put upon the stage. You'll see he'll be all right enough at the ball to-morrow night." "Is she in the Corso--La Lalli?" "Altro. I should think so--and looking so lovely. What a woman she is!" "Whereabouts is she?" "About twenty carriages further ahead. You'll see her presently, when we are near the turn, sitting buried up to her waist nearly in flowers--a regular Flora, and such a representative as the Goddess never had before." "Who has she got with her in her carriage?" asked the first speaker. "I expected to have seen the Marchesino Ludovico there, but he is with the Conte Leandro, in one of the Castelmare carriages."