To complete the party arrived an elderly litterateur who was more proud of his not–very–important social standing than of his literature. In fact he was one of those English snobs of the old order, living abroad. Perfectly well dressed for the evening, his grey hair and his prim face was the most well–dressed thing to be met in North Italy.

“Oh, so glad to see you, Mr. French. I didn’t know you were in Florence again. You make that journey from Venice so often. I wonder you don’t get tired of it,” cried Corinna Wade.

“No,” he said. “So long as duty to England calls me to Florence, I shall come to Florence. But I can LIVE in no town but Venice.”

“No, I suppose you can’t. Well, there is something special about Venice: having no streets and no carriages, and moving about in a gondola. I suppose it is all much more soothing.”

“Much less nerve–racking, yes. And then there is a quality in the whole life. Of course I see few English people in Venice—only the old Venetian families, as a rule.”

“Ah, yes. That must be very interesting. They are very exclusive still, the Venetian noblesse?” said Miss Wade.

“Oh, very exclusive,” said Mr. French. “That is one of the charms. Venice is really altogether exclusive. It excludes the world, really, and defies time and modern movement. Yes, in spite of the steamers on the canal, and the tourists.”

“That is so. That is so. Venice is a strange back–water. And the old families are very proud still, in these democratic days. They have a great opinion of themselves, I am told.”

“Well,” said Mr. French. “Perhaps you know the rhyme:

“‘Veneziano gran’ Signore
Padovano buon’ dotore.
Vicenzese mangia il gatto
Veronese tutto matto—–’”

“How very amusing!” said Miss Wade. “Veneziana gran’ Signore. The Venetian is a great gentleman! Yes, I know they are all convinced of it. Really, how very amusing, in these advanced days. To be born a Venetian, is to be born a great gentleman! But this outdoes divine right of king.”

“To be born a Venetian GENTLEMAN, is to be born a great gentleman,” said Mr. French, rather fussily.

“You seriously think so?” said Miss Wade. “Well now, what do you base your opinion on?”

Mr. French gave various bases for his opinion.

“Yes—interesting. Very interesting. Rather like the Byzantines— lingering on into far other ages. Anna Comnena always charmed me very much. HOW she despised the flower of the north—even Tancred! And so the lingering Venetian families! And you, in your palazzo on the Grand Canal: you are a northern barbarian civilised into the old Venetian Signoria. But how very romantic a situation!”

It was really amusing to see the old maid, how she skirmished and hit out gaily, like an old jaunty free lance: and to see the old bachelor, how prim he was, and nervy and fussy and precious, like an old maid.