de of the blood rushing through his veins as if it must
burst his heart. By what obscure phenomenon did his soul so overmaster
his body that he was no longer conscious of his independent self, but
was wholly one with this woman at the least word she spoke in that voice
which disturbed the very sources of life in him? If, in utter seclusion,
a woman of moderate charms can, by being constantly studied, seem
supreme and imposing, perhaps one so magnificently handsome as the
Duchess could fascinate to stupidity a youth in whom rapture found some
fresh incitement; for she had really absorbed his young soul.

Massimilla, the heiress of the Doni, of Florence, had married the
Sicilian Duke Cataneo. Her mother, since dead, had hoped, by promoting
this marriage, to leave her rich and happy, according to Florentine
custom. She had concluded that her daughter, emerging from a convent to
embark in life, would achieve, under the laws of love, that second
union of heart with heart which, to an Italian woman, is all in all. But
Massimilla Doni had acquired in her convent a real taste for a religious
life, and, when she had pledged her troth to Duke Cataneo, she was
Christianly content to be his wife.

This was an untenable position. Cataneo, who only looked for a duchess,
thought himself ridiculous as a husband; and, when Massimilla complained
of this indifference, he calmly bid her look about her for a _cavaliere
servente_, even offering his services to introduce to her some youths
from whom to choose. The Duchess wept; the Duke made his bow.

Massimilla looked about her at the world that crowded round her; her
mother took her to the Pergola, to some ambassadors' drawing-rooms, to
the Cascine--wherever handsome young men of fashion were to be met;
she saw none to her mind, and determined to travel. Then she lost her
mother, inherited her property, assumed mourning, and made her way
to Venice. There she saw Emilio, who, as he went past her opera box,
exchanged with her a flash of inquiry.

This was all. The Venetian was thunderstruck, while a voice in the
Duchess' ear called out: "This is he!"

Anywhere else two persons more prudent and less guileless would have
studied and examined each other; but these two ignorances mingled like
two masses of homogeneous matter, which, when they meet, form but one.
Massimilla was at once and thenceforth Venetian. She bought the palazzo
she had rented on the Canareggio; and then, not knowing how