"Dundas, the route for Syracuse has come!" cried Lascelles, knocking lustily at my room door. "We march at daybreak to relieve the 81st. Deuced unpleasant, is it not?" "Devil take the route!" thought I, as an appointment with Bianca to gallop along the Marina, and drive four-in-hand to Montreale, flashed upon my mind. But there was no help for it. The 62nd bade adieu to "Palermo the Happy," and amid the severe duties of Syracuse, I perhaps ceased for a time to think of Bianca. But to resume. "Ah, signora!" said I, taking her hand, "you have not quite forgotten me, then?" "Oh, Signor Claude, how can I forgot that terrible night with the conciarotti?" "And the ball at the prince’s palace?" A slight blush suffused her soft cheek, and I felt my old penchant returning with renewed strength. "Good!" I thought; "she has not forgotten _my name_." On inquiring for her sisters, Ortensia and Francesca, whose black eyes had so bewitched poor Oliver Lascelles, the young lady changed colour, as if one part of my inquiry distressed her, and the Visconte appeared a little disconcerted. I had made an unlucky blunder, yet knew not how. "Ortensia is married to the Cavaliere Benedetto del Castagno," replied Bianca; "and dear Francesca has taken the veil, and resides in her convent at Crotona." The Visconte interrupted any further questioning, by warmly thanking me for the attention I had shown to his cousins in saving them from the insults of the Sicilian rabble. A very long and common-place conversation then ensued, about the probable issue of our expedition, politics, and the fashionable gossip of Palermo; until the subject was changed by the entrance of Giacomo Belloni, to announce that the carriage was in readiness. The Viscontessa rose, and began to apologize for having to leave me; but as it was a playing night at Casa Sant’ Agata at Nicastro, the prince would be indignant if she were absent. "Bianca and I are constant visitors at the prince’s conversazioni; and as all the elite of the Lower Province are invited in honour of your army landing, it is so impossible to absent oneself, that you must indeed excuse us. Visconte, you will, of course, remain?" "Impossible!" replied Luigi; "I am bound in honour to visit the prince’s tables to-night, and to give Castelermo, the Maltese commander, a chance of regaining the thousand ducats I won from him—ay, per Baccho! and lost immediately afterwards to that cursed hunchback, Gaspare Truffi. Signor, I am puzzled! To stay away would offend my powerful friend, the prince; and yet, to go, even should you accompany us, may seem lacking in politeness——" "I have already received an invitation, my lord," said I; "a chasseur of the prince’s household arrived at the camp, just before I left, with cards for the general and staff officers." "Benissimo! excellent! Then you go, of course?"