ss, and perhaps more, when she know that
he had loved. Women allow precedence in love affairs. All is well if
other women are in question.

A man is not a diplomate with impunity: the _sposo_ was as secret as the
grave--so secret that the merchants of Genoa chose to regard the young
Consul's attitude as premeditated, and the heiress might perhaps have
slipped through his fingers if he had not played his part of a love-sick
_malade imaginaire_. If it was real, the women thought it too degrading
to be believed.

Pedrotti's daughter gave him her love as a consolation; she lulled these
unknown griefs in a cradle of tenderness and Italian caresses.

Il Signor Pedrotti had indeed no reason to complain of the choice to
which he was driven by his beloved child. Powerful protectors in Paris
watched over the young diplomate's fortunes. In accordance with a
promise made by the Ambassador to the Consul-General's father-in-law,
the young man was created Baron and Commander of the Legion of Honor.
Signor Pedrotti himself was made a Count by the King of Sardinia.
Onorina's dower was a million of francs. As to the fortune of the Casa
Pedrotti, estimated at two millions, made in the corn trade, the young
couple came into it within six months of their marriage, for the first
and last Count Pedrotti died in January 1831.

Onorina Pedrotti is one of those beautiful Genoese women who, when they
are beautiful, are the most magnificent creatures in Italy. Michael
Angelo took his models in Genoa for the tomb of Giuliano. Hence the
fulness and singular placing of the breast in the figures of Day and
Night, which so many critics have thought exaggerated, but which is
peculiar to the women of Liguria. A Genoese beauty is no longer to be
found excepting under the mezzaro, as at Venice it is met with only
under the _fazzioli_. This phenomenon is observed among all fallen
nations. The noble type survives only among the populace, as after the
burning of a town coins are found hidden in the ashes. And Onorina, an
exception as regards her fortune, is no less an exceptional patrician
beauty. Recall to mind the figure of Night which Michael Angelo has
placed at the feet of the _Pensieroso_, dress her in modern garb, twist
that long hair round the magnificent head, a little dark in complexion,
set a spark of fire in those dreamy eyes, throw a scarf about the
massive bosom, see the long dress, white, embroidered with flowers,
imagine the statue sitting