“Ask not too many questions,” replied a more contained Spaniard; “piety toward Holy Church forbids. For the sake of naming her, let me call her the Cardinal’s ‘niece.’” “Ha!” laughed the Sicilian. “I understand.” But even as he spoke I saw the Portuguese ambassador, in all his cloth of gold, bow to Marianna, and an instant later she whirled down the great hall as his partner. The spirit of the hour was upon me. Captured by the swaying music I offered myself to a tall, stiffly dressed Castilian, to my belief the Duchess of Lerida, and found her a very happy companion. Other dances followed. I forgot everything in the spirit of the hour. I was almost unconscious of the flight of time, as I exchanged harmless badinage with some Italian lady whose accent was Venetian,--when the voice of the master-ushers sounded, “His Majesty the Emperor!” Charles entered by an upper doorway. Ten flunkeys carrying tall candelabra marched before him, making his entrance one blaze of light. The music stopped an instant, then revived in a fiercer, swifter strain. The Emperor seated himself upon an armchair upon a low dais, and I saw him despatch a page to summon Forli. The Cardinal joined the sovereign upon the dais, and conversed long. I would have given much to have overheard them. When the dancing resumed, by a kind of mutual consent all the revellers held back to make way for a _passionesa_. A tall Spanish gentleman advanced to the middle of the floor. He wore a long blue cloak reaching to his heels. To meet him came my lady of the yellow dress. Never had I seen Marianna dance more rarely. They went through the difficult figures with marvellous grace, leaping very high, advancing, retreating, sometimes almost sinking into one another’s arms, but never touching, and always facing one another. The hall rang with applause. I heard the Emperor’s “bravo!” As the general dancing resumed I brought myself beside Marianna. Old instinct made me bow her my invitation. She held out her hands. Once in the dance I almost regretted my boldness. She was like a wild thing under my touch. Faster and faster we whirled, and her face was very close to mine. I felt her hot breath on my cheeks. On my forehead was the intoxicating touch of her flying hair. A strange feeling of enchantment, bending my will, subverting my powers, seemed stealing over me. “Gualtiero,” she said out of lips all red and pearls, “Gualtiero! I have conquered, have conquered! _Caro mio!_ let us dance and dance forever!” But I would not kiss her, not even when we swung under the shadowy pillars by the musicians. The dance ended. I disengaged her arm, alleging that I saw a great French nobleman glancing her way, and of a truth it was probably the Comte de Ponthieu who danced with her next. Yet despite his well-trained gracefulness, it was a very cold and unresponding lady he led about the room.