"A revolution?" "A movement of young Italy?" "Perhaps a new mandate from the papal defender?" "No, gentleman, it concerns a woman." "A woman?" "Yes, if it is not the devil, which I am inclined to believe." "Ulrik, you are putting us to entreaty, do explain." "Do you remember, gentlemen, last year, having heard in Germany that young Mexican widow, the Marquise de Miranda, spoken of?" "Zounds! the one whom our poet, Moser-Hartmann, wrote of in such magnificent and passionate verse, under the name of the modern Aphrodite." "Ah, ah, ah, what a charming mistake!" said one of the inquirers, roaring with laughter. "Moser-Hartmann, the religious and soulful poet, the chaste poet, pure and cold as the immaculate snow, sings Aphrodite, in burning verses. I have heard those admirable verses repeated, but, evidently, they are the production of another Hartmann." "And I assure you, my dear sir, and Ulrik will confirm it, that this poem, which they say rightfully ranks with the most beautiful odes of Sappho, is truly the work of Moser-Hartmann." "Nothing more true," replied Ulrik. "I heard Moser-Hartmann recite the verses himself,--they are worthy of antiquity." "Then I believe you, but how do you explain this sudden incomprehensible transformation?" "Ah, my God! This transformation which has changed a cold, correct man, but a man of estimable talent, indeed, a man of genius, full of fire and power, whose name is renowned through Europe--this transformation has been wrought by the woman whom the poet has praised, by the Marquise de Miranda." "Moser-Hartmann so changed? I would have thought the thing impossible!" "Bah!" replied Ulrik, "the marquise has done several things, and here is one of her best tricks, written to me from Bologna. There was there a cardinal legate of the Pope, the terror and aversion of the country." "His name is Orsini, a man as detestable as he is detested." "And his exterior reveals his nature. I saw him in Lombardy. What a cadaverous, sinister face! He always seemed to me the very type of an inquisitor." "Well, the marquise took him to a ball at the Casino in Bologna, disguised as a Hungarian hussar!" "The cardinal legate as a Hungarian hussar!" cried the company, in one voice. "Come, Ulrik, you are telling an idle tale."