He seated himself, to wait for their return. Only Manlio was left in the box besides himself. Manlio, consecrated to the worship of one afar, cared little to mix with the profane and noisy multitude. As Gerald leaned forth to see the couple that had just left them reappear down-stairs, Manlio, whose eyes followed his, remarked very sincerely, when the large easily-recognized white domino came into sight "_È buona_!" which can be translated either, "She is kind," or "She is good." Gerald felt the warmth of an increased liking for him, because of the perspicacity he showed. They lighted cigarettes, and together looked over the marvelous scene, so rich in color and life, while they talked of things that bore no relation to it, serious things and manly--politics. Charlie came in with Francesca, who at the door doffed her domino and mask. Both, heated from dancing, were ready for a rest and a little more of the Champagne-cup. "By the way, Gerald," said Charlie, "that's a jolly good painting, old chap, you made of our charming hostess." "Glad you like it!" answered Gerald carelessly, without irony. He did not at the moment dislike Charlie. He was genially inclined to-night toward all the world. While he had been tying on his white cravat before the glass in preparation for the _veglione_, it had dawned on him, to his surprise and glimmering relief, that he felt something resembling pleasure in the prospect of the confused and promiscuous affair he was enlisted for. He had constated that something like normal responsiveness to the common exterior solicitations to enjoyment was returning to his spirit, his nerves. The tang of life was pleasant to his palate. A dim gladness moved him, as at coming across a precious thing one had supposed lost, in remembering that he was young.... He laid all this to the mere passage of time, and thanked the gods that unless one dies of one's hurts one finally recovers. Under these circumstances it is conceivable that he should not momentarily feel hate or impatience toward any fellow-passenger on the amusing old Ship of the World. Scraps of poetry stirred in the wells of memory where they are dropped and lost sight of. "I feel peaceful as old age," he quoted. But his eye falling on the white carnation which Giovanna, knowing her signorino was going _in serata_, had provided for his buttonhole, lines less grey came to his lips: "_Neque tu choreas_...." He fished for the half-forgotten words. "_Donec virenti canities abest...._" Because a positive sense of health pervaded him, he, with a philosophy founded upon observation, remarked that by this sign no doubt he was on the verge of an illness. But he absentmindedly neglected the practices preventive of misfortune, believed in not solely by the _popolino_ of Italy, but recommended to him in boyhood by the excellent physician who after curing his mumps had taught him to make horns with his fingers against calamity of any sort that might threaten.