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seemed but little hope for the child; (how much less than for the
mother! ) but now, from the interior of that dark niche which has been
already mentioned as forming a part of the Old Republican prison, and
as fronting the lattice of the Marchesa, a figure muffled in a cloak,
stepped out within reach of the light, and, pausing a moment upon the
verge of the giddy descent, plunged headlong into the canal. As, in an
instant afterwards, he stood with the still living and breathing
child within his grasp, upon the marble flagstones by the side of the
Marchesa, his cloak, heavy with the drenching water, became unfastened,
and, falling in folds about his feet, discovered to the wonder-stricken
spectators the graceful person of a very young man, with the sound of
whose name the greater part of Europe was then ringing.
No word spoke the deliverer. But the Marchesa! She will now receive
her child--she will press it to her heart--she will cling to its little
form, and smother it with her caresses. Alas! another's arms have
taken it from the stranger--another's arms have taken it away, and
borne it afar off, unnoticed, into the palace! And the Marchesa! Her
lip--her beautiful lip trembles: tears are gathering in her eyes--those
eyes which, like Pliny's acanthus, are "soft and almost liquid." Yes!
tears are gathering in those eyes--and see! the entire woman thrills
throughout the soul, and the statue has started into life! The pallor
of the marble countenance, the swelling of the marble bosom, the very
purity of the marble feet, we behold suddenly flushed over with a tide
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