He threw himself into our arms, weeping. We entered our carriage just at sunrise. As we passed Villa Nasi, a blind was cautiously opened and a woman leaned out to look after us. She had one hand on her heart, the other she waved to me by way of farewell, and raised her eyes to heaven to express her thanks: it was Bianca. Three months later, Checca and I arrived at Venice one lovely evening in autumn. We had an engagement at La Fenice, and we took rooms on the Grand Canal, at the best hotel in the city. We passed the first hours after our arrival unpacking our trunks and putting our stage wardrobe in order. Not until that was done did we dine. It was quite late. At dessert they brought me several packages of letters, one of which caught my eye at once. After looking through it, I opened the window on the balcony, called to Checca to go out with me, and told her to look across the canal. Among the numerous palaces which cast their shadows on the placid water, there was one, directly opposite our apartments, easily distinguishable by its size and its antiquity. It had been magnificently restored. Everything about it had a festive air. Through the windows we could see, by the light of countless candles, superb bouquets and gorgeous curtains, and we could hear the melodious strains of a large orchestra. Gondolas, brilliantly illuminated, glided silently along the Grand Canal and deposited at the palace door women bedecked with flowers and gleaming jewels, and their escorts in ceremonious costume. "Do you know," I asked Checca, "what palace this is opposite us, and the occasion of this party?" "No, and I am not at all curious." "It is the Aldini Palace, where the marriage of Alezia Aldini and Count Nasi is being celebrated." "Bah!" she said, with a half-surprised, half-indifferent air. I showed her the packet I had received. It was from Nasi. It contained two invitations and two letters, one from Nasi to her, one from Alezia to me, both charming. "You see," I continued, when Checca had finished hers, "that we have no reason to complain of their treatment of us. These letters followed us to Florence and to Milan, and our constant journeyings are to blame for their not having reached us until now. And the letters are as kind and agreeable as it is possible for them to be. It is easy to see that they were dictated by noble hearts. Great nobles as they are, they are not afraid to speak to us, one of his friendship, the other of her gratitude." "Yes, but meanwhile they don't invite us to their wedding." "In the first place, they don't know that we are here; and in the second place, my dear sister, the rich people and the nobles do not invite singers to their parties, except to have them sing; and those who don't choose to sing to entertain their hosts are not invited at all. That is the justice of society; and kind-hearted and sensible as our young friends are, as they live in that society, they are obliged to submit to its laws."