whelmed with grief, and incapable of exerting
myself in the mansion of my late benefactor, he invited me to sojourn
for a time in a villa which he possessed on the border of the sea, in
the picturesque neighborhood of Sestri de Ponenti.

I found at the villa the Count's only son, Filippo: he was nearly of my
age, prepossessing in his appearance, and fascinating in his manners;
he attached himself to me, and seemed to court my good opinion. I
thought there was something of profession in his kindness, and of
caprice in his disposition; but I had nothing else near me to attach
myself to, and my heart felt the need of something to repose itself
upon. His education had been neglected; he looked upon me as his
superior in mental powers and acquirements, and tacitly acknowledged my
superiority. I felt that I was his equal in birth, and that gave an
independence to my manner which had its effect. The caprice and tyranny
I saw sometimes exercised on others, over whom he had power, were never
manifested towards me. We became intimate friends, and frequent
companions. Still I loved to be alone, and to indulge in the reveries
of my own imagination, among the beautiful scenery by which I was
surrounded.

The villa stood in the midst of ornamented grounds, finely decorated
With statues and fountains, and laid out into groves and alleys and
shady bowers. It commanded a wide view of the Mediterranean, and the
picturesque Ligurian coast. Every thing was assembled here that could
gratify the taste or agreeably occupy the mind. Soothed by the
tranquillity of this elegant retreat, the turbulence of my feelings
gradually subsided, and, blending with the romantic spell that still
reigned over my imagination, produced a soft voluptuous melancholy.

I had not been long under the roof of the Count, when our solitude was
enlivened by another inhabitant. It was a daughter of a relation of the
Count, who had lately died in reduced circumstances, bequeathing this
only child to his protection. I had heard much of her beauty from
Filippo, but my fancy had become so engrossed by one idea of beauty as
not to admit of any other. We were in the central saloon of the villa
when she arrived. She was still in mourning, and approached, leaning on
the Count's arm. As they ascended the marble portico, I was struck by
the elegance of her figure and movement, by the grace with which the
_mezzaro_, the bewitching veil of Genoa, was folded about her slender
for