"Do you wish my friend also to taste the wine, prince?" said Zanoni.
"Recollect, all cannot drink it with the same impunity as myself."

"No," said the prince, hastily; "if you do not recommend the wine,
Heaven forbid that we should constrain our guests! My lord duke,"
turning to one of the Frenchmen, "yours is the true soil of Bacchus.
What think you of this cask from Burgundy? Has it borne the journey?"

"Ah," said Zanoni, "let us change both the wine and the theme."

With that, Zanoni grew yet more animated and brilliant. Never did wit
more sparkling, airy, exhilarating, flash from the lips of reveller.
His spirits fascinated all present--even the prince himself, even
Glyndon--with a strange and wild contagion. The former, indeed, whom the
words and gaze of Zanoni, when he drained the poison, had filled with
fearful misgivings, now hailed in the brilliant eloquence of his wit a
certain sign of the operation of the bane. The wine circulated fast; but
none seemed conscious of its effects. One by one the rest of the party
fell into a charmed and spellbound silence, as Zanoni continued to pour
forth sally upon sally, tale upon tale. They hung on his words, they
almost held their breath to listen. Yet, how bitter was his mirth; how
full of contempt for the triflers present, and for the trifles which
made their life!

Night came on; the room grew dim, and the feast had lasted several hours
longer than was the customary duration of similar entertainments at
that day. Still the guests stirred not, and still Zanoni continued, with
glittering eye and mocking lip, to lavish his stores of intellect
and anecdote; when suddenly the moon rose, and shed its rays over the