tended to disappoint him.—“Not I indeed!” answered. Florentine, “but how many hopes of this life are, unawares, blighted in the bud!” “Dearest Florentine!” said Maria, again embracing her, “for a long time already, my sister and I have been perplexing ourselves in vain, to find out what could have thus destroyed the wonted high spirits of our beloved friend? To say the truth, we have tormented ourselves with the thought, that perhaps some family considerations might have constrained you to this marriage with the Count, and that it is quite against your own wishes.” “Family considerations!” answered Florentine; alas! you forget that I am now quite alone in the world. Our race is almost extinct,—for I am the only branch that is not already mouldering in the ancestral vaults. Besides, have I not confessed to you, that I love the Count with my whole heart! Or, did you think that I had lost all regard for truth, when, about a month ago, I gave you such a brilliant description of his character? “Nay, how can we know what to believe?” said Maria. “Is it not an obvious and unaccountable contradiction, that a betrothed bride, as you are, possessed too of beauty, fortune, and talents;
