vent, he
addressed the maiden with all that impressiveness of tone which
declares a stifled but still present and passionate emotion in the
heart. His words were of a touching sorrow.

"And is it thus, my Francesca, that I must look upon thee for the last
time? Henceforth are we to be dead to one another? Is it thus that I
am to hear that, forgetful of thy virgin vows to Gradenigo, thou art
here calling Heaven to witness that thou givest thyself and affections
to another?"

"Not willingly, O! not willingly, Giovanni, as I live! I have not
forgotten--alas! I cannot forget that I have once vowed myself to
thee. But I pray thee to forget, Giovanni. Forget me and
forgive--forgive!"

Oh! how mournfully was this response delivered. There was a dead
silence through the assembly; a silence which imposed a similar
restraint even upon the parents of the maiden, who had showed a desire
to arrest the speaker. They had appealed to the Patriarch, but the
venerable man was wise enough to perceive that this was the last open
expression of a passion which must have its utterance in some form,
and if not this, must result in greater mischief. His decision tacitly
sanctioned the interview as we have witnessed. It was with increased
faltering, which to the bystanders seemed almost fainting, that the
unhappy Francesca thus responded to her lover. Her words were little
more than whispers, and his tones, though deep, were very low and
subdued, as if spoken while the teeth were shut. There was that in the
scene which brought forward the crowd in breathless anxiety to hear,
and the proud heart of the damsel's mother revolted at an exhibition
in which her position was by no means a grateful one. She would have
wrested, even by violence, the hand of her daughter from the grasp of
Giovanni; but he retained it firmly, the maiden herself being scarcely
conscious that he did so. His eye was sternly fixed upon the mother,
as he drew Francesca toward himself. His words followed his looks:

"Have you not enough triumphed, lady, in thus bringing about your
cruel purpose, to the sacrifice of two hearts--your child's no less
than mine. Mine was nothing to you--but hers! what had she done that
you should trample upon hers? This hast thou done! Thou hast
triumphed! What would'st thou more? Must she be denied the mournful
privilege of saying her last parting with him to whom she vowed
herself, ere she vows herself to another! For shame, lady; this is a