as matter for reproach),
and I encouraged her to admire herself, whereupon she could not restrain
a smile of satisfaction.

"I think I must be in disguise," said she, "for I have never seen myself
so decked out before."

She praised the tasteful simplicity of the dress I had chosen, but was
vexed at the thought that her mother would still be displeased.

"Think no more of your mother, dearest one. You look like a lady of
quality, and I shall be quite proud when the people at Genoa ask me if
you are my daughter."

"At Genoa?"

"Yes, at Genoa. Why do you blush?"

"From surprise; perhaps I may see there one whom I have not yet
forgotten."

"Would you like to stay here better?"

"No, no! Love me and be sure that I love you and for your own sake, not
from any thought of my own interests."

"You are moved, my angel; let me wipe away your tears with kisses."

She fell into my arms, and she relieved the various feelings of which her
heart was full by weeping for some time. I did not try to console her,
for she had not grief; she wept as tender souls, and women, more
especially, often will. We had a delicious supper to which I did honour
for two, for she ate nothing. I asked her if she was so unfortunate as
not to care for good food.

"I have as good an appetite as anyone," she replied, "and an excellent
digestion. You shall see for yourself when I grow more accustomed to my
sudden happiness."

"At least you can drink; this wine is admirable. If you prefer Greek
muscat I will send for some. It will remind you of your lover."

"If you love me at all, I beg you will spare me that mortification."

"You shall have no more mortification from me, I promise you. It was only
a joke, and I beg your pardon for it."

"As I look upon you I feel in despair at not having known you first."

"That feeling of yours, which wells forth from the depths of your open
soul, is grand. You are beautiful and good, for you only yielded to the
voice of love with the prospect of becoming his wife; and when I think
what you are to me I am in despair at not being sure you love me. An evil
genius whispers in my ear that you only bear with me because I had the
happiness of helping you."

"Indeed, that is an evil genius. To be sure, if I had met you in the
street I should not have fallen head over ears in love with you, like a
wanton, but you would certainly have pleased me. I am sure I love you,
and not for what you have done for me; for i