nued: "Listen, Monsieur l'Abbe, I will tell you
what happened, for I don't want you to form too bad an opinion of my poor
Dario. It was all in some measure my fault. Last night he asked me for an
appointment here in order that we might have a quiet chat, and as I knew
that my aunt would be absent at this time to-day I told him to come. It
was only natural--wasn't it?--that we should want to see one another and
come to an agreement after the grievous news that my marriage will
probably never be annulled. We suffer too much, and must form a decision.
And so when he came this evening we began to weep and embrace, mingling
our tears together. I kissed him again and again, telling him how I
adored him, how bitterly grieved I was at being the cause of his
sufferings, and how surely I should die of grief at seeing him so
unhappy. Ah! no doubt I did wrong; I ought not to have caught him to my
heart and embraced him as I did, for it maddened him, Monsieur l'Abbe; he
lost his head, and would have made me break my vow to the Blessed
Virgin."

She spoke these words in all tranquillity and simplicity, without sign of
embarrassment, like a young and beautiful woman who is at once sensible
and practical. Then she resumed: "Oh! I know my poor Dario well, but it
does not prevent me from loving him; perhaps, indeed, it only makes me
love him the more. He looks delicate, perhaps rather sickly, but in truth
he is a man of passion. Yes, the old blood of my people bubbles up in
him. I know something of it myself, for when I was a child I sometimes
had fits of angry passion which left me exhausted on the floor, and even
now, when the gusts arise within me, I have to fight against myself and
torture myself in order that I may not act madly. But my poor Dario does
not know how to suffer. He is like a child whose fancies must be
gratified. And yet at bottom he has a good deal of common sense; he waits
for me because he knows that the only real happiness lies with the woman
who adores him."

As Pierre listened he was able to form a more precise idea of the young
prince, of whose character he had hitherto had but a vague perception.
Whilst dying of love for his cousin, Dario had ever been a man of
pleasure. Though he was no doubt very amiable, the basis of his
temperament was none the less egotism. And, in particular, he was unable
to endure suffering; he loathed suffering, ugliness, and poverty, whether
they affected himself or others. Both his