The wine circulated fast, but none seemed conscious of its effects.

One by one the rest of the party fell into a charmed and spell-bound silence as Zicci continued to pour forth sally upon sally, tale upon tale.

They hung on his words, they almost held their breath to listen.

Yet how bitter was his mirth; how full of contempt for all things; how deeply steeped in the coldness of the derision that makes sport of life itself! Night came on; the room grew dim, and the feast had lasted several hours longer than was the customary duration of similar entertainments at that day.

Still the guests stirred not, and still Zicci continued, with glittering eye and mocking lip, to lavish his stores of intellect and anecdote, when suddenly the moon rose, and shed its rays over the flowers and fountains in the court without, leaving the room itself half in shadow and half tinged by a quiet and ghostly light.
It was then that Zicci rose.