Milan had its attractions even for the gay court of France. It was a devout and dissolute city; and we know how jovially, in some countries and at some times, dissoluteness and devotion have contrived to jog on together. Pastime and penitence, pleasure and penance, alternated among the courtiers of Charles VIII. with very agreeable variety; and it has been whispered that the young king himself was not unwilling either to finger forbidden fruit, or to express contrition afterward. At all events, he wasted many precious days in the Lombard capital. Morning after morning, fresh detachments of his army were sent forward to Pavia, till that city might be considered in possession of his troops; but still the young king lingered, and it was not till nine days after the events we have recorded in the last two or three chapters that the main host of France took its way southward. How passed the intermediate time with those we have left in the Villa de Rovera? It was very sweetly. We must not dwell upon it, because it was so sweet; but a few words will tell all. Lorenzo almost longed to remain an invalid, that there might be a fair excuse for Leonora's tending; and Leonora feared to see him recover health and strength too soon, lest the order to depart should hurry him away. Strange tales are told of the effects of Italian poisons in those days, and doubtless much exaggeration mingles with all the accounts we have received, but certain it is, that, though the youth recovered steadily, each day gaining a little, yet his convalescence was slow, and the subtle bane of Buondoni's sword was more or less felt for many after days. Still no order to march arrived, but every day, about noon, the good Lord de Vitry rode over, well attended, from Pavia to inquire after the health of his young friend; and although it is certain that Leonora could have given him more minute accounts of Lorenzo's state, and the old Count de Rovera could have furnished him with juster and more scientific views of Lorenzo's progress towards recovery, it was always Bianca Maria he first asked for. He speedily became a great favorite with the old count nevertheless. There was something in his frank, soldier-like bearing that pleased, and something in his ever merry conversation that amused the old man, so that he began to wish the day far distant when the noble Lord of Vitry would come no more. Bianca Maria was very happy too, and she gave the rein to happiness without fear. Neither she nor De Vitry ever dreamed that he was making love. She thought herself too young to be the object of passion, and he thought so too. He fancied he should like to have a daughter just like herself, without the slightest change in thought or look--he would not have had a word she said altered--he would not have parted with one ringlet from her head; and she pictured to herself how pleasant it would have been to have an elder brother just like De Vitry.