e and interest me," replied Lord Nelville, "if I felt
sufficiently at rest to give my mind to it: this species of erudition is
much more animated than that which is acquired from books: one would say
that we make what we discover to live again, and that the past
re-appears from beneath the dust in which it has been buried."
"Undoubtedly," said Corinne, "this passion for antiquity is not a vain
prejudice. We live in an age when personal interest seems to be the only
principle of all the actions of men, and what sympathy, what emotion,
what enthusiasm, can ever result from such a principle? It is sweeter to
dream of those days of devotion, of personal sacrifice and heroism,
which however, have existed, and of which the earth still bears some
honourable testimonies."

FOOTNOTE:

[16] Augustus died at Nola, on his way to the waters of Brindisi, which
had been prescribed him; but he left Rome in a dying state.

Chapter vi.

Corinne flattered herself in secret with having captivated the heart of
Oswald, but as she knew his reserve and his severity, she had not dared
make known to him all the interest he had excited in her heart, though
she was disposed, by character, to conceal nothing that she felt.
Perhaps also she believed that even in speaking on subjects foreign to
their growing passion there was a tenderness of accent in their voice,
which betrayed their mutual affection, and that a secret avowal of love
was painted in their looks, and in that melancholy and veiled language
which penetrates so deeply into the soul.

One morning, when Corinne was getting ready to continue her walks with
Oswald, she received a note from him, somewhat ceremonious, informing
her that the bad state of his health would confine him at home for some
days. A painful disquietude seized upon the heart of Corinne: she at
first feared he might be dangerously ill, but the Count d'Erfeuil, whom
she saw at night, told her it was one of those melancholy fits to which
he was very much subject and, during which he would not speak to
anybody.--"He will not see _even me_," said the Count d'Erfeuil, "when
he is so."--This _even me_ was highly displeasing to Corinne, but she
was upon her guard not to betray any symptoms of that displeasure to the
only man who might be able to give her news of Lord Nelville. She
interrogated him, flattering herself that a man of so much apparent
levity would tell her all he knew. But on a sudden, whether he wished