"Mascari," said the Prince, with a haughty smile, "through these veins rolls the blood of the old Visconti,--of those who boasted that no woman ever escaped their lust, and no man their resentment. The crown of my fathers has shrunk into a gewgaw and a toy,--their ambition and their spirit are undecayed. My honor is now enlisted in this pursuit: Isabel must be mine." "Another ambuscade?" said Mascari, inquiringly. "Nay, why not enter the house itself? The situation is lonely, and the door is not made of iron." Before Mascari could reply, the gentleman of the chamber announced the Signor Zicci. The Prince involuntarily laid his hand on the sword placed on the table; then, with a smile at his own impulse, rose, and met the foreigner at the threshold with all the profuse and respectful courtesy of Italian simulation. "This is an honor highly prized," said the Prince; "I have long desired the friendship of one so distinguished--" "And I have come to give you that friendship," replied Zicci, in a sweet but chilling voice. "To no man yet in Naples have I extended this hand: permit it, Prince, to grasp your own." The Neapolitan bowed over the hand he pressed; but as he touched it, a shiver came over him, and his heart stood still. Zicci bent on him his dark, smiling eyes, and then seated himself with a familiar air. "Thus it is signed and sealed,--I mean our friendship, noble Prince. And now I will tell you the object of my visit. I find, your Excellency, that, unconsciously perhaps, we are rivals. Can we not accommodate our pretensions? A girl of no moment, an actress, bah! it is not worth a quarrel. Shall we throw for her? He who casts the lowest shall resign his claim?" Mascari opened his small eyes to their widest extent; the Prince, no less surprised, but far too well world-read even to show what he felt, laughed aloud. "And were you, then, the cavalier who spoiled my night's chase and robbed me of my white doe? By Bacchus, it was prettily done." "You must forgive me, my Prince; I knew not who it was, or my respect would have silenced my gallantry." "All stratagems fair in love, as in war. Of course you profited by my defeat, and did not content yourself with leaving the little actress at her threshold?" "She is Diana for me," answered Zicci, lightly; "whoever wins the wreath will not find a flower faded." "And now you would cast for her,--well; but they tell me you are ever a sure player." "Let Signor Mascari cast for us." "Be it so. Mascari, the dice." Surprised and perplexed, the parasite took up the three dice, deposited them gravely in the box, and rattled them noisily, while Zicci threw himself back carelessly in his chair and said, "I give the first chance to your Excellency." Mascari interchanged a glance with his patron and threw the numbers were sixteen. "It is a high throw," said Zicci, calmly; "nevertheless, Signor Mascari, I do not despond."