place. But soon the memory of the past began to assert its
influence over them. The Count spoke of Naples as Neapolitans only can.
He infused into his conversation the passionate energy which ever exists
in their souls in relation to that climate, so highly favored by heaven.
Aminta, to whom the cold climate of France had not been that of her
love, surrendered her whole soul to the happiness awakened by those
smiling ideas. The Count recalled to her Sorrento and its perfumed
hills, its azure sea and brilliant sky. He then recalled to her the
villa where he had been so nobly welcomed, where days flitted by like
hours, where the silence of a calm and beautiful nature were only
interrupted by the breeze and the waves, which died away among myrtle
and orange-groves, or by the songs of birds in the luxuriant thickets.
Aminta listened to him with increasing trouble, for his voice had never
seemed so penetrating and mild. Astonishment took possession of her when
she thought that the mind of this man, so sensible to the charms of
nature, so aware of the simple beauties of Italian scenery, was the
energetic and powerful soul which braved death without weakness, and
defied the executioner without fear. The Count thus led, contrary to his
own wishes, into the dangerous retrospect of the past, felt his reason
give way, as he found himself in the presence of one whose very
appearance agitated his reason, because she recalled that country where
the gayest and happiest hours of his life had passed.

Aminta, anxious to triumph over the involuntary emotion which took
possession of her, diverted the Count from all the seductions of his
memory and love by asking if Taddeo was a better friend than brother,
and if letters were as great rarities to him as to herself. The Count
replied that Taddeo wrote often. He then, with an effort, shook off his
delicious dream, and sadly returned to real life. "The Marquis and he,"
said Monte-Leone, "are yet at Rome, as M. de Maulear must have told you.
Rome has never been gayer than it now is. Festivals and entertainments
are numerous, and the richest strangers of Europe are now there; while
balls and cards are all the rage."

At the last phrase Aminta grew pale. The Count observed this, and
attributing its cause to some illness, rose to go away. The Marquise,
though, said with a vivacity which surprised him, "And does the Holy
father authorize play in his states?"

"He does not authorize but tolerates