emory cause me pain? It is useless to lament over a grave which
never gives back its dead. Would to Heaven I could remember that, once
for all!

'Francesca is still young, and has retained the frank and charming
gaiety which, in our school days, exercised such a strange fascination
over my somewhat gloomy temperament. She has one great and rare virtue:
though she is light-hearted herself, she can enter into the troubles of
others and knows how to lighten them by her kindly sympathy and pity.
She is above all things a woman of high intelligence and refined tastes,
a perfect hostess and a friend who never palls upon one. She is perhaps
a trifle too fond of witty _mots_ and sparkling epigrams, but her darts
are always tipped with gold, and she aims them with inimitable grace.
Among all the women of the great world I have ever known there is
certainly not one to compare with her, and of all my friends, she is the
one I care for most.

'Her children are not like her, they are not handsome. But the youngest,
Muriella, is a dear little thing, with the sweet laugh and the eyes of
her mother. She did the honours of the house to Delfina with all the air
of a little lady; she has certainly inherited her mother's perfect
manner.

'Delfina seems to be happy. She has already explored the greater part of
the grounds, as far as the sea, and has run down all the flights of
steps. She came to tell me about all the wonderful things she had
seen--panting, swallowing half the words, her eyes looking almost
dazzled. She spoke continually of her new friend Muriella--a pretty name
that sounds still prettier from her lips.

'She is fast asleep. When her eyes are closed, her lashes cast a long,
long shadow on her cheeks. Francesca's cousin was struck by their length
this evening and quoted a beautiful line from Shakespeare's Tempest on
Miranda's eyelashes.

'The scent of the flowers is too strong in this room. Delfina was
anxious to keep the bouquet of roses by her bedside, but now that she is
asleep I shall take them away and put them out into the loggia in the
fresh air.

'I am tired, and yet I have written four pages; I am sleepy, and yet I
would gladly prolong this languor of soul, lulled by I know not what
unwonted sense of tenderness diffused around me. It is so long--so
long--since I have felt myself surrounded by a little kindness!

'I have just carried the vase of roses into the loggia and stayed there
a few moments to listen t