Rosabella trembled; her eyes could no longer sustain the fire of his

glances, and a modest blush overspread her face and bosom.

"Rosabella!" at length murmured Flodoardo, unconsciously;

"Flodoardo!" sighed Rosabella, in the same tone.

"Give me that violet!" he exclaimed, eagerly, then sank at her feet,

and in a tone of the most humble supplication repeated, "Oh, give it

to me!"

Rosabella held the flower fast.

"Ask for it what thou wilt. If a throne can purchase it, I will pay

that price, or perish. Rosabella, give me that flower!"

She stole one look at the handsome suppliant and dared not hazard a

second.

"My repose, my happiness, my life--nay, even my glory, all depend on

the possession of that little flower. Let that be mine, and here I

solemnly renounce all else which the world calls precious."

The flower trembled in her snowy hand. Her fingers clasped it less

firmly.

"You hear me, Rosabella? I kneel at your feet; and am I then in

vain a beggar?"

The word "beggar" recalled to her memory Camilla and her prudent

counsels. "What am I doing?" she said to herself. "Have I

forgotten my promise, my resolution? Fly, Rosabella, fly, or this

hour makes you faithless to yourself and duty."

She tore the flower to pieces, and threw it contemptuously on the

ground.

"I understand you, Flodoardo," said she; "and having understood you,

will never suffer this subject to be renewed. Here let us part, and

let me not again be offended by a similar presumption. Farewell!"

She turned from him with disdain, and left Flodoardo rooted to his

place with sorrow and astonishment.




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