school, jostling each other as we reeled or ran down the flight of
seven or eight stairs that led from the colonnade into the garden,
--some lambing, some whooping, some scolding, some babbling. The
wine had brought out, as it were, each man's inmost character.
Some were loud and quarrelsome, others sentimental and whining;
some, whom we had hitherto thought dull, most mirthful; some, whom
we had ever regarded as discreet and taciturn, most garrulous and
uproarious. I remember that in the midst of our most clamorous
gayety my eye fell upon the foreign cavalier, Signor Zicci, whose
conversation had so enchanted us all, and I felt a certain chill
come over me to perceive that he bore the same calm and
unsympathizing smile upon his countenance which had characterized
it in his singular and curious stories of the court of Louis XV. I
felt, indeed, half inclined to seek a quarrel with one whose
composure was almost an insult to our disorder. Nor was such an
effect of this irritating and mocking tranquillity confined to
myself alone. Several of the party have told me since that on
looking at Zicci they felt their blood rise and their hands wander
to their sword-hilts. There seemed in the icy smile a very charm
to wound vanity and provoke rage. It was at this moment that the
Prince came up to me, and, passing his arm into mine, led me a
little apart from the rest. he had certainly indulged in the same
excess as ourselves, but it did not produce the same effect of
noisy excitement. There was, on the contrary a certain cold
arrogance and supercilious scorn in his bearing and language,
which, even while affecting so much caressing courtesy towards me,
roused my self-love against him. He seemed as if Zicci had
infected him, and that in imitating the manner of his guest he
surpassed the original, he rallied me on some court gossip which
had honored my name by associating it with a certain beautiful and