Over its arched and pillared entrance there was a balcony, richly hung

with tapestry and damask, and tenanted, for the time, by a gentleman of

venerable aspect and a group of ladies. The white hair and whiskers of

the former, and the winter roses in his cheeks, had an English look; the

ladies, too, showed a fair-haired Saxon bloom, and seemed to taste the

mirth of the Carnival with the freshness of spectators to whom the scene

was new. All the party, the old gentleman with grave earnestness, as if

he were defending a rampart, and his young companions with exuberance of

frolic, showered confetti inexhaustibly upon the passers-by.

In the rear of the balcony, a broad-brimmed, ecclesiastical beaver was

visible. An abbate, probably an acquaintance and cicerone of the English

family, was sitting there, and enjoying the scene, though partially

withdrawn from view, as the decorum for his order dictated.

There seemed no better nor other course for Kenyon than to keep watch at

this appointed spot, waiting for whatever should happen next. Clasping

his arm round a lamp-post, to prevent being carried away by the

turbulent stream of wayfarers, he scrutinized every face, with the idea

that some one of them might meet his eyes with a glance of intelligence.

He looked at each mask,--harlequin, ape, bulbous-headed monster, or

anything that was absurdest,--not knowing but that the messenger might

come, even in such fantastic guise. Or perhaps one of those quaint

figures, in the stately ruff, the cloak, tunic, and trunk-hose of three

centuries ago, might bring him tidings of Hilda, out of that long-past

age. At times his disquietude took a hopeful aspect; and he fancied that

Hilda might come by, her own sweet self, in some shy disguise which the

instinct Of his love would be sure to penetrate. Or, she might be

borne past on a triumphal car, like the one just now approaching, its

slow-moving wheels encircled and spoked with foliage, and drawn by

horses, that were harnessed and wreathed with flowers. Being, at best,

so far beyond the bounds of reasonable conjecture, he might anticipate

the wildest event, or find either his hopes or fears disappointed in

what appeared most probable.

The old Englishman and his daughters, in the opposite balcony, must have

seen something unutterably absurd in the sculptor's deportment, poring

into this whirlpool of nonsense so earnestly, in quest of what was to

make his life dark or bright. Earnest people, who try to get a reality

out of human existence, are necessarily absurd in the view of the

revellers and masqueraders. At all events, after a good deal of mirth at

the expense of his melancholy visage, the fair occupants of the balcony

favored Kenyon with a salvo of confetti, which came rattling about him

like a hailstorm. Looking up instinctively, he was surprised to see

the abbate in the background lean forward and give a courteous sign of

recognition.




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