Plans for picnics, balls, and other gaieties were freely discussed. There was a constant dragging about of heavy furniture along the corridors, from which I gathered that rooms were being suitably prepared both for Andrea and his possible bride. At the gossip parliaments, nothing else was talked of but the coming event; the misdemeanours of servants, the rudeness of tradesmen, and the latest Pisan scandal being relegated for the time being to complete obscurity. In about ten days Costanza Marchetti appeared on the scene. We were sitting in the yellow drawing-room after lunch when the carriage drove up, followed by a fly heavily laden with luggage. Bianca had rushed to the window at the sound of wheels, and had hastily described the cavalcade. A few minutes later in came Romeo with a young, or youngish, lady, dressed in the height of fashion, on his arm. She advanced towards the Marchesa with a sort of sliding curtsy, and shook hands from the elbow in a manner worthy of Bond Street. But the meeting between her and Bianca was even more striking. Retreating a little, to allow free play for their operations, the young ladies tilted forward on their high heels, precipitating themselves into one another's arms, where they kissed one another violently on either cheek. Retreating again, they returned once more to the charge, and the performance was gone through for a second time. Then they sat down close together on the sofa, stroking one another's hands. "Costanza powders so thickly with violet powder, it makes me quite ill," Bianca confided to me later in the day; "and she thinks there is nobody like herself in all the world." When the Contessima, for that I discovered was her style and title, had detached her fashionable bird-cage veil from the brim of her large hat, I fell to observing her with some curiosity from my modest corner. She was no longer in her first youth--about twenty-eight, I should say--but she was distinctly handsome, in a rather hard-featured fashion. When she was introduced to me, she bowed very stiffly, and said, "How do you do, Miss?" in the funniest English I had ever heard. "It is so good of you to come to us," said the Marchesa, with her usual stateliness; "to leave your gay Florence before the end of the Carnival for our quiet Pisa. We cannot promise you many parties and balls, Costanza." Perhaps Costanza had seen too many balls in her time--had discovered them, perhaps (who knows?), to be merely dust and ashes. At any rate, she eagerly and gushingly disclaimed her hostess's insinuation, and there was voluble exchange of compliments between the ladies. "Will you give Bianca a holiday for this week, Miss Meredith?" said the Marchesa, presently. "Certainly, if you will allow it," I answered, saying what I knew I was intended to say. Costanza looked across at me coldly, taking in the modest details of my costume. "And when does the Marchesino arrive?" she asked, turning to his mother.