The Count of Monte Cristo

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so much were they occupied by the gay and glittering procession they now
beheld. As for the Count of Monte Cristo, he had never for an instant
shown any appearance of having been moved. Imagine the large and
splendid Corso, bordered from one end to the other with lofty palaces,
with their balconies hung with carpets, and their windows with flags. At
these balconies are three hundred thousand spectators--Romans, Italians,
strangers from all parts of the world, the united aristocracy of birth,
wealth, and genius. Lovely women, yielding to the influence of the
scene, bend over their balconies, or lean from their windows, and shower
down confetti, which are returned by bouquets; the air seems darkened
with the falling confetti and flying flowers. In the streets the lively
crowd is dressed in the most fantastic costumes--gigantic cabbages walk
gravely about, buffaloes' heads bellow from men's shoulders, dogs walk
on their hind legs; in the midst of all this a mask is lifted, and, as
in Callot's Temptation of St. Anthony, a lovely face is exhibited,
which we would fain follow, but from which we are separated by troops
of fiends. This will give a faint idea of the Carnival at Rome. At the