an you fancy," said Aminta, gayly.
"Hitherto I have, however, been unfortunate, for my suitors have been so
superior that their merit terrified me. I was afraid of the talents of
one, and of the mind of another. Besides, Marquis, let me tell you, that
I am a little foolish and exaggerated. I think there are two existences
in me, the one awake, and the other asleep. In the latter, there pass
such fancies before me, that I am often frightened at them. I sometimes
see the drama of life unrolled before me.--I am married and
unhappy--strange scenes take place around me, and he to whom my fate has
been confided, makes it sad and dreary as possible;--I am humiliated,
outraged, and betrayed, and am, too, so much afraid of marriage, that I
think I would refuse the hand of an angel were it offered me."

As she spoke, Aminta's features became sad, and her eyes glittered with
a sombre fire, like that of the Pythoness announcing the Delphic oracle.
Maulear was silent, and for a few moments said nothing. In the mean time
the young girl regained her presence of mind, and, ashamed of her
enthusiasm, sought to apologize for it.

"You will," said she, "laugh at my ridiculous whims. What, however, do
you expect of a poor child, raised like myself in solitude,
uncultivated, and from character and taste a dreamer? Such a creature
must indeed be strange to a Parisian. Perhaps, though you do not wish me
thus to speak to you, such a creature has made a deeper impression on
your imagination than on your heart. The terrible circumstances of our
meeting also, the romantic origin of our acquaintance, may lead you into
error in relation to sentiments which perhaps would be impotent, both
against the enticements of the world and against absence."

"Ah!" said Maulear, with chagrin, "if those sentiments were shared--if
he who experiences them were not indifferent to you, you, Signorina,
would have confidence in them."

"I desire nothing better than to be satisfied that such is the case,"
said she, with charming naivete. "Time, however, is required for that,
and we have been acquainted only for a few days."

"Are years then required for us to love?" said Maulear. "For that a
word, a look, suffice."

"In France, perhaps," replied Aminta; "in your brilliant saloons, with
your gay countrymen, where all is so lively and spontaneous. Here
though, in a modest villa, hidden by the orange trees of Sorrento, a
young girl's heart is not disposed of so easi