at morning as that of an
insignificant poor gentleman, in no point of name or fortune the
superior of five hundred others, and who might naturally be supposed to
covet the dignities and the wealth which Veronica could confer upon
him. But Veronica had resented both the description and the suggestions
which had accompanied it, which showed well enough, how strong her
inclination really was.

On the other side, there remained the impression made upon her by what
Taquisara had said for Gianluca, and last of all the impression made
upon her by Taquisara himself, as a man, and as a standard by which to
measure other men in the future.

With regard to Gianluca, Veronica was indeed curious, but she was also
somewhat sceptical. She could not, of course, say surely that a young
man might not die of love for a girl whom he scarcely knew; and among
the acquaintances of her family she remembered at least one case in
converse, where a morbid maiden of eighteen years had died because she
was not allowed to marry the man she loved. Even there, it had been
hinted that the girl had caught a bad cold which had fastened upon her
delicate lungs. It was doubtless a romantic story, and if anything
appealed to her for Gianluca, it was the romance in his case. Her
reading had been very limited as yet, and the book she was reading so
eagerly was a French translation of the Bride of Lammermoor. The romance
of it spoke directly to her imagination; but when the book was closed
she did not believe that she had a romantic disposition. It is an
indisputable fact that the people to whom the strangest things happen
never regard themselves as romantic characters, whatever others may
think of them. They are, indeed, more often active and daring people, to
whom what others think extraordinary seems quite natural and easy. They
make the events out of which humanity's appetite for romance is fed, and
become, to humanity, themselves the unconscious embodiments of romance
itself. In her heart, therefore, Veronica was a little sceptical about
the reality of the terrific passion by which, according to Taquisara,
his friend was consumed. She recalled his face distinctly, as she had
seen him half a dozen times in the world, and she thought the definition
of him which she had given Bianca Corleone a very just one. He reminded
her of one of Perugino's angels--with a youthful beard. If angels had
beards, she thought, without a smile, they would have beards like
Gi