Rosabella.--You say right, Camilla. I really believe myself that my

prepossession in Flodoardo's favour is merely an accidental fancy,

of which I shall easily get the better. No, no; I am not in love

with Flodoardo--of that you may rest assured. I even think that I

rather feel an antipathy towards him, since you have shown me the

possibility of his making me prove a cause of uneasiness to my kind,

my excellent uncle.

Camilla (smiling).--Are your sentiments of duty and gratitude so

very strong?

Rosabella.--Oh, that they are, Camilla; and so you will say yourself

hereafter. This disagreeable Flodoardo--to give me so much

vexation! I wish he had never come to Venice. I declare I do not

like him at all.

Camilla.--No--what! Not like Flodoardo?

Rosabella (casting down her eyes).--No, not at all. Not that I wish

him ill, either, for you know, Camilla, there's no reason why I

should hate this poor Flodoardo!

Camilla.--Well, we will resume this subject when I return. I have

business, and the gondola waits for me. Farewell, my child; and do

not lay aside your resolution as hastily as you took it up.

Camilla departed, and Rosabella remained melancholy and uncertain.

She built castles in the air, and destroyed them as soon as built.

She formed wishes, and condemned herself for having formed them.

She looked round her frequently in search of something, but dared

not confess to herself what it was of which she was in search.

The evening was sultry, and Rosabella was compelled to shelter

herself from the sun's overpowering heat. In the garden was a small

fountain, bordered by a bank of moss, over which the magic hands of

art and nature had formed a canopy of ivy and jessamine. Thither

she bent her steps. She arrived at the fountain, and instantly drew

back, covered with blushes, for on the bank of moss, shaded by the

protecting canopy, whose waving blossoms were reflected on the

fountain, Flodoardo was seated, and fixed his eyes on a roll of

parchment.

Rosabella hesitated whether she should retire or stay. Flodoardo

started from his place, apparently in no less confusion than

herself, and relieved her from her indecision by taking her hand

with respect, and conducting her to the seat which he had just

quitted.

Now, then, she could not possibly retire immediately, unless she

meant to violate every common principle of good breeding.

Her hand was still clasped in Flodoardo's; but it was so natural for

him to take it, that she could not blame him for having done so.

But what was she next to do? Draw her hand away? Why should she,

since he did her hand no harm by keeping it, and the keeping it

seemed to make him so happy? And how could the gentle Rosabella

resolve to commit an act of such unheard-of cruelty as wilfully to

deprive any one of a pleasure which made him so happy, and which did

herself no harm?




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