Marietta uttered a cry of terror, and rushed to her sister, but Barbarina waved her away; the wound and the flow of blood had brought relief to her wild nature; she was calm, and a ravishing smile disclosed two rows of pearly teeth. "Be still, Marietta," said she, in a commanding tone, "the wound is not deep, not dangerous, but deep enough to confirm my statement when I declare that, while dancing last evening, I wounded my foot upon a piece of glass from a broken lamp." "Ah! now I understand you, you proud sister," cried Marietta, looking up gayly. "You would thus account for your swoon of yesterday?" "Yes, and now give me my slipper, and allow me to take your arm; we will go into the saloon." "With your bleeding foot, with this open wound?" "Yes, with my bleeding foot; however, we had better check the flow of blood a little." The cavaliers who waited for the signora became ever sadder and more thoughtful. Barbarina must be indeed ill, if she allowed her admirers to wait so long, for she was above all the small coquetries of women; they would not go, however, till they had news of her, till they had seen her sister. At last their patience was rewarded; the portiere was drawn back, and Barbarina appeared, leaning upon the arm of her sister. She was pale and evidently suffering. She walked slowly through the saloon, speaking here and there to the cavaliers, and conversing in the gay, gracious, and piquant manner in which she excelled. Suddenly, in the midst of one of these merry interchanges of thought, in which one speaks of every thing or nothing, Barbarina uttered a cry of pain and sank upon the sofa. "I believe, I fear that my foot is bleeding again," she cried. She slightly raised her robe, and lifted up her foot, that small object of wonder and rapture to all the lands of Europe. Truly her white satin slipper was crimson, and blood was flowing freely from it. A cry of horror sounded from every lip. The gentlemen surrounded Barbarina, who lay pale as death upon the sofa, while Marietta knelt before her, and wrapped her foot in her handkerchief. This was a striking scene. A saloon furnished with princely splendor, and odorous with the rarest flowers; a group of cavaliers in their gold- embroidered coats and uniforms, glittering with crosses and odors; the signora lying upon the divan in a charming negligee, with her bleeding foot resting upon the lap of her sister. "You are wounded, signora, you bleed!" cried the young Prince of Wurtemberg, with such an expression of horror, you would have thought he expected the instant death of the Barbarina. The lovely Italian looked up in seeming surprise. "Did not your highness know that I was wounded? I thought you were a witness to my accident yesterday?" "Certainly, I was at the opera-house, as were all these gentlemen; but what has that to do with your bleeding foot?"