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of ungovernable crimson; and a slight shudder quivers about her delicate
frame, as a gentle air at Napoli about the rich silver lilies in the
grass.
Why should that lady blush! To this demand there is no answer--except
that, having left, in the eager haste and terror of a mother's heart,
the privacy of her own boudoir, she has neglected to enthral her tiny
feet in their slippers, and utterly forgotten to throw over her Venetian
shoulders that drapery which is their due. What other possible reason
could there have been for her so blushing?--for the glance of those wild
appealing eyes? for the unusual tumult of that throbbing bosom?--for the
convulsive pressure of that trembling hand?--that hand which fell,
as Mentoni turned into the palace, accidentally, upon the hand of the
stranger. What reason could there have been for the low--the singularly
low tone of those unmeaning words which the lady uttered hurriedly in
bidding him adieu? "Thou hast conquered," she said, or the murmurs of
the water deceived me; "thou hast conquered--one hour after sunrise--we
shall meet--so let it be!"
*
* * * *
The tumult had subsided, the lights had died away within the palace,
and the stranger, whom I now recognized, stood alone upon the flags. He
shook with inconceivable agitation, and his eye glanced around in search
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