nerously gives me; but three years of married
life imply acceptance of its laws. Hence the most vehement passion would
never make me utter, even involuntarily, a wish to find myself free.

"Emilio knows my character. He knows that without my heart, which is my
own, and which I might give away, I should never allow anyone to take
my hand. That is why I have just refused it to you. I desire to be loved
and waited for with fidelity, nobleness, ardor, while all I can give
is infinite tenderness of which the expression may not overstep the
boundary of the heart, the permitted neutral ground. All this being
thoroughly understood--Oh!" she went on with a girlish gesture, "I will
be as coquettish, as gay, as glad, as a child which knows nothing of the
dangers of familiarity."

This plain and frank declaration was made in a tone, an accent, and
supported by a look which gave it the deepest stamp of truth.

"A Princess Colonna could not have spoken better," said Rodolphe,
smiling.

"Is that," she answered with some haughtiness, "a reflection on the
humbleness of my birth? Must your love flaunt a coat-of-arms? At Milan
the noblest names are written over shop-doors: Sforza, Canova, Visconti,
Trivulzio, Ursini; there are Archintos apothecaries; but, believe me,
though I keep a shop, I have the feelings of a duchess."

"A reflection? Nay, madame, I meant it for praise."

"By a comparison?" she said archly.

"Ah, once for all," said he, "not to torture me if my words should ill
express my feelings, understand that my love is perfect; it carries with
it absolute obedience and respect."

She bowed as a woman satisfied, and said, "Then monsieur accepts the
treaty?"

"Yes," said he. "I can understand that in a rich and powerful feminine
nature the faculty of loving ought not to be wasted, and that you, out
of delicacy, wished to restrain it. Ah! Francesca, at my age tenderness
requited, and by so sublime, so royally beautiful a creature as you
are--why, it is the fulfilment of all my wishes. To love you as you
desire to be loved--is not that enough to make a young man guard himself
against every evil folly? Is it not to concentrate all his powers in
a noble passion, of which in the future he may be proud, and which can
leave none but lovely memories? If you could but know with what hues you
have clothed the chain of Pilatus, the Rigi, and this superb lake--"

"I want to know," said she, with the Italian artlessness which has
a