steal the fruit for which he longs; he will lay snares for innocence, at which he scoffs; and in the unbridled indulgence of appetite he finds the most alluring side of his profession.
Such, too, were the sentiments of Camillo. Notwithstanding Apollonia’s blushes, and the most rigid modesty, he felt convinced that she, like all the other women in the world, would be incapable of resistance when her hour was come; and to hasten it seemed to him the triumph of worldly wisdom, and an enterprise worthy of himself.
At dinner the lovely countess appeared so amiable and so attentive to her guest, that her behaviour must have convinced him of his error, had he not been already too deeply involved in it. As it was, however, he mistook Apollonia’s hospitality for solicitude to make amends for her former coldness, and he generously resolved not to be too severe. Such a ridiculous infatuation would be almost incredible, did we not in our days see instances enough of it. The conversation soon turned upon the count. Camillo knew no more than that the intimate friendship with which Frangipani was honoured by King Francis the First, the brilliant distinctions which that monarch was constantly conferring on him, and, lastly, the circumstance of the count’s having, by the king’s express desire, removed his tent from the Venetian camp, and pitched it near that
