.
You now know what you wished to know about my circumstances." Soon after
she resumed, changing her tone to one of pride and dignity: "I am afraid
that this confession, which you extorted from me, may occasion you to
form a wrong conception of my character. Do not indulge the suspicion
that I have sought your friendship in order to obtain vile
compensations. If I discovered the least sign in you of such
dishonouring dirty thoughts, I should lose at once the feeling which
drew me toward you, and our friendship would be irrevocably broken."

I need hardly say that this discovery of a Penelope in my mistress was
exactly what thrilled my metaphysical heart with the most delicious
ecstasy. Six months meanwhile had flown, and we were still at
boiling-point. I used to write her tender and platonic sonnets, which
she prized like gems, fully appreciating their sense and literary
qualities. I also wrote songs for the tunes she knew; and these she used
to sing at home, unseen by me, surpassing the most famous sirens of the
stage by the truth and depth of her feeling. I am afraid that my readers
will be fatigued by the long history of this semi-platonic amour. Yet
the time has now arrived when I must confess that it degenerated at last
into a mere vulgar _liaison_. It pains me; but truth demands that I
should do so. Indeed, it was hardly to be expected that a young man of
twenty and a girl of seventeen should carry on so romantic and ethereal
a friendship for ever.

One day I saw my mistress seated with a very sad expression at her
window. I inquired what had happened. She answered in a low voice that
she had things of importance to communicate, and begged me to be
punctual at the gondola, the _ponte storto_. Nothing more. Her reserve
made me tremble for the future which might lie before us.

She told me that she was much distressed about her husband. He was very
ill. The doctors had recommended him to seek the temperate air of Padua
and the advice of its physicians. He had departed in tears, leaving her
alone with a somnolent old serving-woman. I was genuinely sorry for the
cause of her distress; but the news relieved me of my worst fears. After
expatiating on the sad occurrence and over-acting her grief, I thought,
even to the extent of shedding tears, she entered into a discourse which
presented a singular mixture of good sense, tenderness, and artifice.
"My friend," she said, "it is certain that I must be left a widow after