Zicci, with a sneer, "our pulpits would be empty. Do you think it matters, in the great aggregate of human destinies, what one man's conduct may be? Nothing; not a grain of dust: but it matters much what are the sentiments he propagates. His acts are limited and momentary; his sentiments may pervade the universe, and inspire generations till the day of doom. All our virtues, all our laws, are drawn from books and maxims, which are sentiments, not from deeds. Our opinions, young Englishman, are the angel part of us; our acts the earthly."
"You have reflected deeply for an Italian," said Glync on.
"Who told you I was an Italian?"
"Are you not of Corsica?"
"Tush," said Zicci, impatiently turning away. Then, after a pause, he resumed, in a mild voice "Glyndon, do you renounce Isabel di Pisani? Will you take three days to consider of what I have said?"
"Renounce her—never!"
"Then you will marry her?"
"Impossible."
"Be it so: she will then renounce you. I tell you that you have rivals."
"Yes; the Prince di ; but I do not fear him."
"You have another, whom you will fear more."
"And who is he ?"
"Myself."
Glyndon turned pale and started from his seat.
"You, Signer Zicci!—you—and you dare to tell me so?"
"Dare! Alas! you know there is nothing on earth left me to fear!"
These words were not uttered arrogantly, but in a tone of the most mournful dejection. Glyndon was enraged, confounded, and yet awed. However, he had a brave English heart within his breast, and he recovered himself quickly.
"Signor," said he, calmly, "I am not to be duped by these solemn phrases, and these mystical sympathies. You may have power which I cannot comprehend or emulate, or you may be but a keen impostor."
"Well, sir, your logical position is not ill-taken—proceed."
"I mean then," continued Glyndon, resolutely, though somewhat disconcerted, "I mean you to understand, that, though I am not to be persuaded or compelled by a stranger to marry Isabel di Pisani, I am not the less determined never tamely to yield her to another."
