She told it to me as we sat one evening in the balcony of her
house, the palazzo Orfeo, on the Grand Canal.
II.
The Marchesa sat for a long time silent, and we watched the phantom life
of the city around us. Presently she sighed deeply and said:
"Ah, me! it is the eve of the Purification. My son, seventy years ago
to-day the woman was born whose connection with the house of Negropontini
has shrouded it in gloom, like the portrait you have seen in the saloon.
Seventy years ago to-day my father's neighbor, the Count Balbo, saw for
the first time the face of the first daughter his wife had given him. The
countess lay motionless--the flame of existence flickered between life and
death.
"'Adorable Mother of God!' said the count, as he knelt by her bedside, 'if
thou restorest my wife, my daughter shall be consecrated to thy service.'
"The slow hours dragged heavily by. The mother lived.
"My brother Camillo and I were but two and four years older than our
little neighbor. We were children together, and each other's playmates.
When the little neighbor, Sulpizia Balbo, was fourteen, Camillo was
eighteen. My son, the sky of Venice never shone on a more beautiful girl,
on a youth more grave and tender.
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