His eyes lighted on the old man, just for an instant, and then returned to the eddying throng of the Corso, on his minute scrutiny of which depended, for aught he knew, the sole chance of ever finding any trace of her.

There was, about this moment, a bustle on the other side of the street, the cause of which Kenyon did not see, nor exert himself to discover.

A small party of soldiers or gendarmes appeared to be concerned in it; they were perhaps arresting some disorderly character, who, under the influence of an extra flask of wine, might have reeled across the mystic limitation of carnival proprieties.
The sculptor heard some people near him talking of the incident.
"That contadina, in a black mask, was a fine figure of a woman." "She was not amiss," replied a female voice; "but her companion was far the handsomer figure of the two.

Could they be really a peasant and a contadina, do you imagine ?" "No, no," said the other.

"It is some frolic of the Carnival, carried a little too far." This conversation might have excited Kenyon's interest; only that, just as the last words were spoken, he was hit by two missiles, both of a kind that were flying abundantly on that gay battlefield.