fections grew, the same joys
and griefs prevailed. Therein lay the power of vengeance. "They despise
and reject you!" cried she; "they hold themselves apart from you, as
beings of another destiny; of all this fair world contains they will not
share with you, save in the air and sunlight; and yet their passions are
your passions--their hates, loves, and jealousies are all your own. All
their wealth teaches no new affection, all their civilisation can stifle
no old pang. If you be like them, then, in all these, why not resemble
them in their cruelties? Down with them! down with them!" she cried,
"for the brand to burn, and the axe to cleave." She shrieked the wild
scream of an incensed populace. The chateau was attacked on every
side--but why do I continue? The terrible roar of the famished crowd
before her is still in my ears, as she sank dying on the stage, the
martyred girl of the people, pouring out her blood for her brethren.

'As the curtain fell I rushed forward to raise her; she was fainting.
The emotion was not all unreal. I had seen her a hundred times before;
we used to salute each other as we met, and perhaps exchange a word or
two; and though struck by her uncommon beauty, I only deemed her one of
those unhappy shreds that hang on the draggled robe of humanity, without
intellect or mind--of those who are unfortunate without pity; but now
as I lifted her up, and carried her to a seat, I saw before me the
marvellous artist--one whose genius could conceive the highest flights
of passion, and who had powers also to portray it. It was some time
before she came to herself; her faculties seemed to wander in a sort of
dreamy vagueness. She dropped words of Italian too, and muttered strange
rhymes to herself. I tried to soothe her and calm her. I told her of the
immense success she had achieved, and that even in that rude audience
there reigned a fervour of enthusiasm that would have carried them to
any excesses. "Poor wretches," muttered she, "who are insensible to real
wrongs, and can yet be moved by a mockery of woe."

This was all she said, and turned from me with a gesture of aversion.
Half stung by the insult of her manner, half wounded in the instincts
of my class--for it is hard to forget that one was born noble--I stooped
down and whispered in her ear some bitter words of reproach. She started
like one bitten by a serpent, and stared at me with wide eyeballs and
half-opened mouth. I saw my advantage, and used