Polia dei Poli, whom I have just mentioned, was then in the palazzo of the Pisani family, where Leonora had decided her to come to spend the mad weeks of the Carnival. Eight years younger than her cousin, and more beautiful than Leonora was herself, Polia, dedicated, as were a great number of young ladies of noble birth, to serious studies, profited from her sojourn in the capital of the scholarly world to improve herself in areas of knowledge today quite alien to her sex, and the habit of these solemn meditations had imparted to her face something cold and austere which passed for pride. It was not really to be wondered at, however, for Polia was the last surviving remnant of the ancient Lelia family in Rome, from whom she was descended by way of Lelius Maurus, the founder of Treviso. She was brought up under the watchful eye of an imperious and haughty father, so proud of the splendour of his race, that he would have considered the marriage of his daughter to the greatest prince in Italy as marrying below her station, and besides, it was known that the treasures that she would inherit one day could suffice for the dowry of a queen. She had nonetheless granted to Francesco, in their first meetings, a few signs of almost affectionate benevolence, but, as time went on, she seemed to have gradually prescribed for herself a reserve that was severe, not to say disdainful, and when he stopped showing himself at the palazzo Pisani, she no longer bothered with him. It was during the course of the month of February 1466. Spring, often early in that fair region, was beginning to fill it with all its favours. Polia was about to return to Treviso, and her cousin multiplied around her the various festivities that might enhance her sojourn in Venice and make it harder for her to leave. One day had been taken up by gondola outings on the Grand Canal and on that broad and deep arm of it that separates the Serenissima from the solitude of its Lido. But Francesco had not been overlooked in Leonora Pisani's invitations, and the letter which he had had from her contained such amiable and touching reproaches as to his long absence that for him to refuse would have been inconceivable. Polia was besides, as we have pointed out, on the point of leaving for Treviso, and we may safely assume that Francesco wanted to see her again in spite of the habitual coldness of her welcome. Thinking more and more about the drastic change that had so soon come about in the relations between them, he had ended up by persuading himself that this capricious metamorphosis was due to something other than hate. He found himself then on the steps of the palazzo Pisani, the general assembly point for the departure of the gondolas. The ladies, wearing masks and identical dominos, came out in a crowd from the hallway at the agreed upon signal, and each of them went to choose, as custom decreed, with the familiar decency imparted by disguise, the companion that they