ted, she frequently wandered in the gardens of Rome, hoping
to meet with him. The hours so spent were the least insupportable, since
they afforded some chance of seeing the object of her wanderings. The
ardent imagination of Corinne was the source of her talents; but,
unfortunately for her, it was united to her natural sensibility, which
often rendered it extremely painful to her.

On the evening of the fourth day of this cruel absence, the moon shone
beautifully bright, and the silence of the night gives Rome a fine
effect: it seems then to be inhabited by the shades of its illustrious
ancients. Corinne, returning from the house of a female friend,
oppressed with grief, quitted her carriage, to sit for a few moments
near the fountain of Trevi; before that abundant cascade, which, falling
in the midst of Rome, seems like the vital principle of this tranquil
abode. When this cascade ceases to play for some days, one would say
that Rome is struck with stupor. It is the noise of carriages that we
expect to hear in other capitals; but at Rome, it is the murmuring of
this immense fountain, which seems to be an accompaniment necessary to
the pensive life people lead there: the image of Corinne was painted in
this stream, so pure, that for several centuries past it has borne the
name of the _Virgin Spring_. Oswald, who had stopped in the same place a
few moments afterwards, beheld the charming features of his love
reflected in the water. He was seized with so lively an emotion, that he
did not know, at first, whether it was not his imagination which
presented to him the shadow of Corinne, as it had so often done that of
his father; he bent towards the fountain to observe more distinctly,
when his own countenance was reflected by the side of Corinne's. She
knew him, uttered a cry, and darting towards him rapidly, seized his arm
as if she were afraid he would leave her again; but hardly had she
yielded to this impetuous emotion than recollecting the character of
Nelville, she blushed at having given him this lively testimony of her
feelings, and letting fall the hand which held Oswald, she covered her
face with the other to conceal her tears.

"Corinne!" said Oswald, "dear Corinne! my absence has then rendered you
unhappy!" "Oh yes," answered she, "you were sure of that! Why then pain
me! have I deserved to suffer at your hand?" "No, certainly," cried
Nelville, "but if I do not think myself free; if I feel in my heart a
storm o