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.