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expressible. Ambrosio perceived his mistake, and replaced the book upon the table.
Antonia spoke of her mother's health with all the enthusiastic joy of a youthful heart.
"I admire your filial affection," said the abbot; "it proves the excellence and sensibility of your character; it promises a treasure to him whom Heaven has destined to possess your affections. The breast so capable of fondness for a parent, what will it feel for a lover? Nay, perhaps, what feels it for one even now? Tell me, my lovely daughter, have you known what it is to love? Answer me with sincerity: forget my habit, and consider me only as a friend."
"What it is to love?" said she, repeating his question. "Oh! yes, undoubtedly; I have loved many, many people."
"That is not what I mean. The love of which I speak can be felt only for one.Have
