The Mysteries of Udolpho

At length they withdrew to the Casino, which was fitted up with infinite

taste, and where a splendid banquet was prepared; but here Emily's

reserve made the Count perceive, that it was necessary for his interest

to win the favour of Madame Montoni, which, from the condescension she

had already shewn to him, appeared to be an achievement of no great

difficulty. He transferred, therefore, part of his attention from Emily

to her aunt, who felt too much flattered by the distinction even to

disguise her emotion; and before the party broke up, he had entirely

engaged the esteem of Madame Montoni. Whenever he addressed her, her

ungracious countenance relaxed into smiles, and to whatever he proposed

she assented. He invited her, with the rest of the party, to take

coffee, in his box at the opera, on the following evening, and Emily

heard the invitation accepted, with strong anxiety, concerning the means

of excusing herself from attending Madame Montoni thither.

It was very late before their gondola was ordered, and Emily's surprise

was extreme, when, on quitting the Casino, she beheld the broad sun

rising out of the Adriatic, while St. Mark's Place was yet crowded with

company. Sleep had long weighed heavily on her eyes, but now the fresh

sea-breeze revived her, and she would have quitted the scene with

regret, had not the Count been present, performing the duty, which he

had imposed upon himself, of escorting them home. There they heard that

Montoni was not yet returned; and his wife, retiring in displeasure

to her apartment, at length released Emily from the fatigue of further

attendance.

Montoni came home late in the morning, in a very ill humour, having lost

considerably at play, and, before he withdrew to rest, had a private

conference with Cavigni, whose manner, on the following day, seemed to

tell, that the subject of it had not been pleasing to him.

In the evening, Madame Montoni, who, during the day, had observed a

sullen silence towards her husband, received visits from some Venetian

ladies, with whose sweet manners Emily was particularly charmed. They

had an air of ease and kindness towards the strangers, as if they had

been their familiar friends for years; and their conversation was by

turns tender, sentimental and gay. Madame, though she had no taste

for such conversation, and whose coarseness and selfishness sometimes

exhibited a ludicrous contrast to their excessive refinement, could not

remain wholly insensible to the captivations of their manner.

In a pause of conversation, a lady who was called Signora Herminia took

up a lute, and began to play and sing, with as much easy gaiety, as if

she had been alone. Her voice was uncommonly rich in tone, and various

in expression; yet she appeared to be entirely unconscious of its

powers, and meant nothing less than to display them. She sung from the

gaiety of her heart, as she sat with her veil half thrown back, holding

gracefully the lute, under the spreading foliage and flowers of some

plants, that rose from baskets, and interlaced one of the lattices of

the saloon. Emily, retiring a little from the company, sketched

her figure, with the miniature scenery around her, and drew a very

interesting picture, which, though it would not, perhaps, have borne

criticism, had spirit and taste enough to awaken both the fancy and

the heart. When she had finished it, she presented it to the beautiful

original, who was delighted with the offering, as well as the sentiment

it conveyed, and assured Emily, with a smile of captivating sweetness,

that she should preserve it as a pledge of her friendship.