“‘This is your motto,’ he said. ‘Volere, Sapere, Ardire’. It is a wise one, act upon it.’
“I threw myself at his feet.
“‘Ferdinand,’ I said, ‘I beseech you, let me go with you.’
“‘This is madness. Scenes are my aversion. I do not understand all this pertinacity and passion. It is my will that you should stay.’
“He raised me, placed me on the sofa, touched my forehead with his lips, and was gone.
“I was deeply wounded. I felt the indifference such conduct showed.
“Two months passed. I led the same life as hitherto, I was not unhappy. I enjoyed the diversions usual to my age; but there were times when I asked myself. ‘Will this go on for ever? Does life afford nothing higher, greater, more absorbing?’
“My success at Court increased daily. I was more and more drawn into its most intimate circle. My husband’s sister accompanied me everywhere; but accidentally, or from design, I was always left alone, the centre of some charmed line of demarcation at all Court festivities, which set me apart from all but one. That one showed me a kindness which I had the folly to mistake for a real honest regard. My inexperience, however, delayed the catastrophe.
“I was not one of those women who can play with love, and accept it from any man who offers it; who take possession of a life as they would of a jewel, to wear or cast aside, and as long as they preserve a personal fidelity to their husband, fancy they do no wrong. I had dreams of something different from the calm sentiment of affection which hitherto was all I had experienced or inspired; and hoped that my husband would some day see in me more than the inexperienced child he had married for her beauty, and would learn to love me as I felt I could love him; but I sought nothing else. The love now offered me had no characteristic by which I could recognise it as the passionate emotion of which I had dreamed. It was simply pleasant. A sentiment, not a feeling. My tastes were sympathised with and understood, my opinions consulted, and I had that delightful consciousness that the best construction was put upon all I did and said, which gives a woman so much security, and doubles whatever power of charming she may have. I said to myself. ‘It is sweet to have a friend.’ The exalted position of this friend mingled my gratitude with a feeling of reverence (I had been educated in the most old-fashioned notions of loyalty), which gave an exaltation to my manner which was at last misunderstood.
“It was one evening at a masked ball to which I went as Night, crescent on head and bow in hand, that the declaration, which had been probably predicted by Court gossips for more than a month past, was made. A mask hovered about me for some time, and then drew me to a conservatory which opened from the ball-room. It was the Emperor. He threw aside the careless light tone he had hitherto accustomed me to, and confessed a passion which had enough of truth in it to knock loudly at my heart. I had never till then heard that voice. Yes, I felt I was loved, though I did not love. It was bitter-sweet!
“‘Why do you look at me so searchingly?’ he said; ‘I ask for nothing but the simple assurance that I am not indifferent to you—my great love will sooner or later win a return. Beautiful and beloved, answer me.’
“I started. I felt I had forgotten myself in a strange musing to have allowed this to go so far; and to his infinite surprise, for I saw it in his face, I neither blushed nor faltered, but knelt in my turn, I gravely kissed his hand, and laid it on my forehead (such was the custom at this Court at an audience of farewell), and then I rose, and without a word left the room. He had understood me, and sprang after me.
“‘Where are you going?’
“‘To my husband.’ And then, seeing the mortification and pain of his countenance, I added, ‘Forget, as I have already forgotten.’
“The next morning by sunrise I was on my way to Rome. I travelled day and night. At length the great Dome rose before me in the purple sky. O Patria! It all seemed like a dream.
“The carriage drove to a house in the Corso, where my husband had an apartment. It was evening; through the half-closed windows I could see lights. He was at home. I went up-stairs. In the ante-room I met and recognised the German valet who was always in his service. He started back as if he had seen an apparition.
“‘Immediately,’ he said, ‘his Excellency should be informed of my arrival. But will the Countess come this way; my master is at dinner with some friends, but he will be at liberty immediately—will your ladyship come into this room and rest.’
“He showed me into a very sumptuous bed-room. Through the open doors I saw the drawing-room brilliantly lighted up, beyond was the dining-room. I threw myself on a chair and waited. Why did not my husband join me? A sound of loud gay conversation, tinkling glasses, and quick exclamations reached me through the closed doors. It was a convivial meeting evidently, and not one of the most refined character.
“At last Ferdinand entered, he looked annoyed.
“‘Santa, what is the meaning of this?’
“I did not care for his coldness. In my youth and innocence I felt a sense of protection and confidence in my husband’s presence, and in his home. I threw myself into his arms, I told him all. He started up, walked up and down the room with impatient exclamations in German, and at last drew me to the light, and looked at me from head to foot. His face cleared up.
“‘Listen to me,’ he said, gravely. ‘I will forgive you, on condition that you return home to-morrow;’—home, then, was not with him.—‘I will accompany you as far as the frontier.’
“‘But—’
“‘Do not answer me,’ he said, imperiously. ‘Take some refreshment and repose, and be ready to start at six.’
“‘Ferdinand,’ I said, passionately, ‘have you understood me?’
