The next morning everything in Venice seemed as tranquil as if
nothing more than ordinary was on the point of taking place; and
yet, since her first foundation, never had a more important day
risen on the Republic.
The inhabitants of the ducal palace were in motion early. The
impatient Andreas forsook the couch on which he had passed a
sleepless and anxious night, as soon as the first sunbeams
penetrated through the lattice of his chamber. Rosabella had
employed the hours of rest in dreams of Flodoardo, and she still
seemed to be dreaming of him, even after sleep was fled. Camilla's
love for her fair pupil had broken her repose; she loved Rosabella
as had she been her daughter, and was aware that on this interesting
day depended the love-sick girl's whole future happiness. For some
time Rosabella was unusually gay; she sang to her harp the most
lively airs, and jested with Camilla for looking so serious and so
uneasy; but when mid-day approached, her spirits began to forsake
her. She quitted her instrument, and paced the chamber with
unsteady steps. With every succeeding hour her heart palpitated
with greater pain and violence, and she trembled in expectation of
the scene which was soon to take place.
The most illustrious persons in Venice already filled her uncle's
palace; the afternoon so much dreaded, and yet so much desired, was
come; and the Doge now desired Camilla to conduct his niece to the
great saloon, where she was expected with impatience by all those
who were of most consequence in the Republic.
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