It had been dark for hours when I returned to the Forli palace to escort Marianna. We went with half a dozen stout fellows of the Cardinal, as well as four men of my own, for we had no wish to meet the surprise awaiting Monsignore di Bari. But despite two suspicious looking fellows lurking in the shadows by the Ponte Sisto, we had no adventures and came safely to the Villa Farnesina across the river whither Messere Chigi had invited us. The now famous decorations in the hall--by Raffaello and his pupils--were not yet complete, but above our heads were already traced the graceful forms and elegant draperies of the myth of Psyche; and the master’s glorious Galatea in the antechamber I had long before admired. But I confess I had little interest in the paintings that night. After so many years,--so many scenes, grave and gay, flitting in between,--I recall this banquet, even as I recall my meeting with Marianna in the gardens, clearly, vividly. For was not this to be the last day and evening of my old life? My life as a child of the Southland,--careless, free, joyous,--obeying the law of fair fancy, with the harsh words “duty” and “conscience” very far away. I have learned to view life differently, yet well do I recall it all! Messere Chigi had surpassed himself. He greeted us with his wonted courtly grace. At his side was his beautiful friend, Francesca Andreozza, whom, the year following, he was to marry. Her diamonds, I swear, were better than those of the Queen of England. Raffaello was there and his delightful Fornarina. Signor Bembo, the Pontifical Secretary, and arbiter of correct Latin and Italian poetry, had come with his pleasant companion, Donna Morosina; but I will not name all the cardinals and their escorts, nor the Roman gentlemen,--Orsinis, Contis, Colonnas, Ludovisis, Rospigliosis, and the rest. In short, there were more than forty covers laid, and for elegance of manner and brilliancy of conversation a more notable company could not have been found in Rome. The guests then were worthy of Messere Chigi’s best, which “best” implied a feast such as an Apicius might have laid for an emperor.