Camillo was very tender toward me, for he thought that I was paying the
penalty of too warm a sympathy with him, and often begged me not to wear
away my health and youth in commiseration for what was past and hopeless.
I cultivated my consciousness of his suffering as a defence against my
own. We never mentioned the names of either of those of whom we were
always thinking; but once in many months he would call me into his
chamber and remove the veil from the portrait, while we stood before it as
silent as devotees in a church before the picture of the Madonna. Camillo
pursued his affairs--the cares of his estate--the duties of society. He
assembled all the strangers of distinction at his table. Yes, it was a
rare and great triumph.
"For myself, I was mistress of my secret, and I reveal it to you for the
first time. Why not? I am seventy years old. You know none of the
persons--you hear it as you would read a romance. My heart was broken--my
faith was lost--and I have never met since any one who could restore it. I
distrust the sweetest smile if it move me deeply, and although men may
sometimes be sincere, yet sorrow is so sure that we must steer by memory,
not by hope.
Pages:
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215