llence of which the good priest gave evidence in all
he did or said.

The priest was not surprised to receive a visit from the duke, because,
as we have said, it was not the first by many; but he was grieved to see
him sad and dejected, and instantly perceived that his whole soul was
absorbed in some painful thought. As to Cornelia, having been told that
the duke was there, she was seized with renewed terror, not knowing how
her misfortunes were to terminate. She wrung her hands, and hurried from
one side of her apartment to the other, like a person who had lost her
senses. Fain would the troubled lady have spoken to the priest, but he
was in conversation with the Duke, and could not be approached. Alfonso
was meanwhile saying to him, "I come to you, my father, full of sadness,
and will not go to Ferrara to-day, but remain your guest; give orders
for all my attendants to proceed to the city, and let none remain with
me but Fabio."

The priest went to give directions accordingly, as also to see that his
own servants made due preparations; and Cornelia then found an
opportunity for speaking to him. She took his two hands and said, "Ah,
my father, and dear sir, what has the duke come for? for the love of God
see what can be done to save me! I pray you, seek to discover what he
proposes. As a friend, do for me whatever shall seem best to your
prudence and great wisdom."

The priest replied, "Duke Alfonso has come to me in deep sadness, but
up to this moment he has not told me the cause. What I would have you
now do is to dress this infant with great care, put on it all the jewels
you have with you, more especially such as you may have received from
the duke himself; leave the rest to me, and I have hope that Heaven is
about to grant us a happy day." Cornelia embraced the good man, and
kissed his hand, and then retired to dress and adorn the babe, as he had
desired.

The priest, meanwhile, returned to entertain the duke with conversation
while his people were preparing their meal; and in the course of their
colloquy he inquired if he might venture to ask him the cause of his
grief, since it was easy to see at the distance of a league that,
something gave him sorrow.

"Father," replied the duke, "it is true that the sadness of the heart
rises to the face, and in the eyes may be read the history of that which
passes in the soul; but for the present I cannot confide the cause of my
sorrow to any one."

"Then we will not