well-drawn curtains and the blazing hearth afford to the children of
colder climes.

The conversation was somewhat more lively and intellectual than is
common amongst the languid pleasure-hunters of the South; for the
prince, himself accomplished, sought his acquaintance not only amongst
the beaux esprits of his own country, but amongst the gay foreigners who
adorned and relieved the monotony of the Neapolitan circles. There were
present two or three of the brilliant Frenchmen of the old regime, who
had already emigrated from the advancing Revolution; and their peculiar
turn of thought and wit was well calculated for the meridian of a
society that made the dolce far niente at once its philosophy and its
faith. The prince, however, was more silent than usual; and when he
sought to rouse himself, his spirits were forced and exaggerated. To the
manners of his host, those of Zanoni afforded a striking contrast. The
bearing of this singular person was at all times characterised by a calm
and polished ease, which was attributed by the courtiers to the long
habit of society. He could scarcely be called gay; yet few persons more
tended to animate the general spirits of a convivial circle. He seemed,
by a kind of intuition, to elicit from each companion the qualities in
which he most excelled; and if occasionally a certain tone of latent
mockery characterised his remarks upon the topics on which the
conversation fell, it appeared to men who took nothing in earnest to be
the language both of wit and wisdom. To the Frenchmen, in particular,
there was something startling in his intimate knowledge of the minutest
events in their own capital and country, and his profound penetration
(evinced but in epigrams and sarcasms) into the eminent characters who
were then playing a part upon the great stage of continental intrigue.

It was while this conversation grew animated, and the feast was at its