They appeared a strangely assorted company.

Many were in evening _toilettes_, two were dressed precisely like Friends, while only one lady wore black.
The two Friends, who were foreigners, seemed quite beside themselves with enthusiasm, and were highly incensed against the Marchesa, a sceptical, very sarcastic old woman, who remarked calmly: "Yes, yes, he spoke very well; but I should have liked to see his face while he was speaking." Declaring she could judge men far better by their faces than by their words, the old Marchesa reproached Guarnacci for not having made a hole in the door, or at least left the key in the lock.
"You are too holy," she said.

"You do not understand women!" Guarnacci laughed, apologising with all the consideration due to his father's employer, and assured her that Benedetto was as beautiful as an angel.

A rather insipid young woman who had come, "Goodness only knows why!" the two Friends thought angrily, announced, in quiet tones, that she had seen him twice, and that he was ugly.
"That is, of course, according to _your_ idea of beauty, signora!" one of the Friends remarked sourly, while the other added in a low tone, intended to enhance its sting, a poisonous _"Naturellement!"_ The insipid young woman, her colour deepening with embarrassment and vexation, replied that he was pale and thin, and the two Friends exchanged glances and smiles of tacit contempt.

But where had she seen him?
Two other insipid young women were curious to know this.
"Why, on both occasions in my sister-in-law's garden," she answered.
"He is always in the garden!" the Marchesa exclaimed.