e music of her voice, and gazing with
intenseness on the wakening passion of her devoted eye. Now they rode
together, scudded over champaign, galloped down hills, scampered through
valleys, all life, and gaiety, and vivacity, and spirit. Now they were
in courts and crowds; and he led her with pride to the proudest kings.
He covered her with jewels; but the world thought her brighter than his
gems. Now they met in the most unexpected and improbable manner: now
they parted with a tenderness which subdued their souls even more than
rapture. Now he saved her life: now she blessed his existence. Now his
reverie was too vague and misty to define its subject. It was a stream
of passion, joy, sweet voices, tender tones, exulting hopes, beaming
faces, chaste embraces, immortal transports!

It was three o'clock, and for the twentieth time our hero made an effort
to recall himself to the realities of life. How cold, how tame, how
lifeless, how imperfect, how inconsecutive, did everything appear! This
is the curse of reverie. But they who revel in its pleasures must bear
its pains, and are content. Yet it wears out the brain, and unfits us
for social life. They who indulge in it most are the slaves of solitude.
They wander in a wilderness, and people it with their voices. They sit
by the side of running waters, with an eye more glassy than the stream.
The sight of a human being scares them more than a wild beast does a
traveller; the conduct of life, when thrust upon their notice, seems
only a tissue of adventures without point; and, compared with the
creatures of their imagination, human nature seems to send forth only
abortions.

'I must up,' said the young Duke; 'and this creature on whom I have
lived for the last eight hours, who has, in herself, been to me the
universe, this constant companion, this cherished friend, whose voice
was passion and whose look was love, will meet me with all the formality
of a young lady, all the coldness of a person who has never even thought
of me since she saw me last. Damnable delusion! To-morrow I will get up
and hunt.'

He called Luigi, and a shower-bath assisted him in taking a more healthy
view of affairs. Yet his faithful fancy recurred to her again. He must
indulge it a little. He left off dressing and flung himself in a chair.

'And yet,' he continued, 'when I think of it again, there surely can
be no reason that this should not turn into a romance of real life. I
perceived that she