ry well said," replied the Count, "very
philosophically thought; but people ruin themselves by these kind of
maxims, and when love is gone, the censure of opinion remains. I, who
appear to possess levity, would never do any thing to draw upon me the
disapprobation of the world. We may indulge in trifling liberties, in
agreeable pleasantries which announce an independent manner of thinking,
provided we do not carry it into action; for when it becomes serious--"
"But the serious consequences are love and happiness," answered Lord
Nelville.--"No, no;" interrupted the Count d'Erfeuil, "that is not what
I wish to say; there are certain established rules of propriety, which
one must not brave, on pain of passing for an eccentric man, a man--in
fact, you understand me--for a man who is not like others."--Lord
Nelville smiled, and without being in the least vexed; for he was by no
means pained with these remarks; he rallied the Count upon his frivolous
severity; he felt with secret satisfaction that for the first time, on a
subject which caused him so much emotion, the Count did not possess the
least influence over him. Corinne, at a distance, conjectured what was
passing; but the smile of Nelville restored tranquillity to her heart,
and this conversation of the Count d'Erfeuil, far from embarrassing
Oswald or his fair companion, only inspired them with a temper of mind
more in harmony with the scene before them.

The horse-racing was about to begin. Lord Nelville expected to see
races like those of England; but what was his surprise, when informed
that only little Barbary horses without riders were to run against each
other. This sight excites the attention of the Romans in a singular
manner. The moment it is about to commence, all the crowd arrange
themselves on each side of the way. The Piazza del Popolo, which was
covered with people, is empty in a moment. Each one ascends the
amphitheatres which surround the obelisk, and innumerable multitudes of
heads and dark eyes are turned towards the barrier from which the horses
are to start.

They arrive without bridle or saddle, with merely a rich cloth thrown
over their backs, and led by extremely well-dressed grooms, who take a
most passionate interest in their success. The horses are placed behind
the barrier and their ardour to clear it is extreme. At every moment
they are held back; they prance, they neigh, they clatter with their
feet, as if they were impatient of a glory wh