at
a pity he gives himself so completely to the people,' said a third. The
Count, whom I saw then for the first time, was the realization of all my
youthful dreams and illusions. I loved the Count, though I did not know
it. From the moment I saw him, my heart and soul were consecrated to
him."

A painful sigh, uttered near Monte-Leone, made the Count look at young
Rovero, the pallor of whom indicated intense suffering.

"My friend," said the Count, taking his hand, "what matters it if Felina
love me, provided I do not love her?"

"Some day you may love her," said Taddeo.

"No," said the Count.

"And why?"

"Because I have but one heart, and that is another's."

A happy smile lighted up the face of Rovero, and Monte-Leone continued
to read, with as much _sang-froid_ as if another were the subject of the
letter:

"You wished to know which of the four I loved; excuse me, Taddeo, but
now I have told you all. From that time I conceived an ardent devotion
to Monte-Leone. My passion was, however, of that kind which only demands
the gratification of the soul. All I had heard of the Count's character,
of his errors, follies, and numerous passions, far from alienating,
rendered him still dearer to me. It seemed that his lofty, generous
disposition, full of courage and honor, had wanted nothing but a guide,
or rather an angel, to wrest him from the torment of the life he had
prepared for himself."

The Count paused, and reflected for a few moments, which seemed
centuries to Rovero. He then began again to read:

"Ah, had I met Monte-Leone in the days of my innocence, in the days when
I also looked for some one to guide my early steps, with my hand in his,
with my heart beating against his, I should, perhaps, have avoided the
rocks on which I have been wrecked? To the Count, however, I could be
now but an ordinary woman, whose attractions might, perhaps, for the
moment fascinate him, but whom he would soon cast aside, as he has his
other conquests: then I feel _I should have killed him!_"

The Count quietly read on:

"I loved him too fondly to become his mistress; yet his image pursued me
by night and day. At last my heart, in its immense and pure love,
inspired me with the noblest and purest idea: 'Be more than a woman, be
more than a mistress to him,' said I to myself, 'be a providence, a
secret and protecting providence which preserves him in all dangers, and
provides all his happiness.' Alas! I fancied that I had