The younger lady was his cousin, Bianca d’Alfieri; who even at first appeared to me a strikingly beautiful girl: a captivating manner rendered the gentle expression of her features still more pleasing, as our acquaintance ripened. Her soft, bright, hazel eyes were shaded by lashes of the deepest jet, and her finely arched eyebrows were of the same sable hue. Glossy black tresses were braided like a coronet around her superb head, whence a mass of fine ringlets flowed over a neck and shoulders which would have been considered fair even in our own land of fair beauties; and in sunny Italy were deemed white as the new fallen snow. The charms of her face and figure were rendered still more striking by the richness of her attire, and the splendid jewels which sparkled in her hair, on her bosom, and her delicate arms. Much has been said about the witchery of unadorned beauty; but the appearance of Bianca d’Alfieri, arrayed in the splendour of full dress, and adorned with all that wealth and Italian taste could furnish to enhance her natural loveliness, was truly magnificent. But how awkward was our greeting! The little I knew of her language had been picked up at the mess of Florestan’s Italian Guard at Palermo, and she knew not a word of English; so we could only maintain a broken conversation, while her cousin the Visconte laughed without ceremony at my blunders. Our interview was stupid enough; and yet not without interest, for my delight was equal to my surprise on beholding in the young lady one with whom I had been acquainted at Palermo: indeed, I had been quite in love with her for a time, until the unlucky route arrived from head-quarters, and she became almost forgotten when we changed our cantonments. My readers will kindly indulge me while I relate a short reminiscence of my first introduction at the Sicilian capital; for, besides being of importance to my story, it affords an illustration of the peculiar manner of the time and country.