it or not;
besides, the Signora Rovero and Aminta, having thought that the Prince
had authorized his son to marry whomsoever he pleased, secrecy would not
have seemed proper or justifiable. The Marquis, who grew every day more
in love, and whose ardor continually increased as he discovered new
qualities to adore in the young heart confided to him, sought to expel
the terrors which he apprehended would result from his father's
surprise, but was unable to satisfy himself that the latter would not be
completely enraged. The Marquis possessed an honorable fortune from his
deceased mother. He therefore was not at all disturbed, in a pecuniary
point of view, in relation to Aminta's fate. The distress, the
humiliation to which his young wife would be exposed, should she be
repelled by his father and family, made him tremble whenever that idea
presented itself to his mind. Aminta had perceived these clouds
occasionally on the brow of her husband, but had attributed it to his
apprehensions that she did not love him as much as he adored her. She
had striven to restore his confidence; and with that gentle voice, never
heard by any one without emotion, said, "Henri, I was frank with you,
when before marriage my heart asked time to return all the passion you
felt. I know I love you now, and was wrong to be so timid; for," added
she, "I deprived myself of happiness by delay." Maulear clasped her in
his arms and forgot his troubles, as all do who love and are loved.

One morning, about ten o'clock, he had left her to go to the French
embassy, whither he was called by important business. The young Marquise
had gone into the garden of Cellamare, and sat beneath an arbor of
jasmin, reading her favorite poet Tasso. Love of Maulear now interpreted
these passionate mysteries, which hitherto she had not understood. Her
soul, illumined by the flame enkindled in it, did not admire, as it
formerly did, the form and gentle harmony of the poem alone. The meaning
of the verses touched her heart, and she seemed for the first time to
open this book, which is so filled with burning inspirations. The
tenderness of Maulear had begun to dissipate the sad presentiments which
had so long agitated her: she felt arising in her a gentle return of
that deep affection she had inspired; and though she had been alone but
two hours, it seemed to her that the Marquis had been absent a much
longer time. Looking in the direction she expected Henri to come, she
exami