She is
headstrong and capricious, and so painfully energetic! Every discussion
with her shortens my life by a year."
"She is an angel in her caprice," answered the Count with conviction.
"Indeed, much of her charm lies in her changing moods."
"If she is an angel, what am I?" asked the Marchesa. "Such a contrast!"
"She is the angel of motion--you are the angel of repose."
"You are delightful to-night."
While this conversation was taking place, Beatrice had wandered away
over the rocks alone, not heeding the unevenness of the stones and
taking little notice of the direction of her walk. She only knew that
she would not go back to the place where she had sat, not for all the
world. A change had taken place already and she was angry with herself
for what she had done in all sincerity.
She was hurt and her first illusion had suffered a grave shock almost at
the moment of its birth. She asked herself how it could be possible, if
San Miniato loved her as he had said he did, that he should not feel as
she felt and understand love as she did--as something secret and sacred,
to be kept from other eyes.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157