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 he was therefore not a little surprised when, on the opening of the folding doors, he was met by a lady of the most exquisite beauty, heightened by the deep black of a mourning dress, whom her attendant introduced as Countess Apollonia Frangipani. Ursino, not less warm an admirer of the fair sex than a brave soldier, had no sooner recovered from the agreeable alarm, than with the characteristic boldness of his profession he thus accosted the lady: “This gloomy dress, by which the most divine charms reluctantly suffer themselves to be enveloped, becomes you not, fair countess. Your husband lives, and is but slightly wounded. I, Camillo Ursino, captain in the service of the serene Republic, can assure you of this; and that billet bears witness to the truth of what I say.”

“You must have a very bad opinion of me,” replied Apollonia, “if the first time you have the honour of being in the presence of the wife of Count Frangipani, you can venture to address to her so unseasonable and so bold a piece of flattery. Neither can you consider me as a Venetian, if you are surprised to find me in mourning on an occasion that has cost my country so many and so severe sacrifices. From your accent, however, you are a foreigner: in your country perhaps other sentiments may prevail. My husband, you say, is wounded, and yet he wrote these lines?”

“He did write them, and is but slightly