Indeed, my dear, I do.

So you say.

Her father held out his open arms to her.  Tears ran down his cheeks.  He could not speak.—­Ah, my father! said she, stepping towards him.

He caught her in his arms—­Don’t, don’t, sir, faintly struggling, with averted face—­You love me not—­You refused to see your child, when she wanted to claim your protection!—­I was used cruelly.

By whom, my dear? by whom?

By every body.  I complained to one, and to another; but all were in a tone:  and so I thought I would be contented.  My mamma, too!—­But it is no matter.  I saw it was to be so; and I did not care.

By my soul, said I, this is not the way with her, Lady Sforza.  The chevalier is in the right.  You see how sensible she is of harsh treatment.

Well, well, said the general, let us change our measures.

Still the dear girl looked out earnestly, as for somebody.

She loosed herself from the arms of her sorrowing father.

Let us in silence, said the count, observe her motions.

She went to him on tip-toe, and looking in his face over his shoulder, as he sat with his back towards her, passed him; then to the general; then to Signor Sebastiano; and to every one round, till she came to me; looking at each over his shoulder in the same manner:  then folding her fingers, her hands open, and her arms hanging down to their full extent, she held up her face meditating, with such a significant woe, that I thought my heart would have burst.—­Not a soul in the company had a dry eye.

Lady Sforza arose, took her two hands, the fingers still clasped, and would have spoken to her, but could not; and hastily retired to her seat.

Tears, at last, began to trickle down her cheeks, as she stood fixedly looking up.  She started, looked about her, and hastening to her mother, threw her arms about her neck; and, hiding her face in her bosom, broke out into a flood of tears, mingled with sobs that penetrated every heart.

The first words she said, were, Love me, my mamma!  Love your child! your poor child! your Clementina!  Then raising her head, and again laying it in her mother’s bosom—­If ever you loved me, love me now, my mamma!—­I have need of your love!

My father was forced to withdraw.  He was led out by his two sons.

Your poor Jeronymo was unable to help himself.  He wanted as much comfort as his father.  What were the wounds of his body, at that time, to those of his mind?

My two brothers returned.  This dear girl, said the bishop, will break all our hearts.

Her tears had seemed to relieve her.  She held up her head.  My mother’s bosom seemed wet with her child’s tears and her own.  Still she looked round her.

Suppose, said I, somebody were to name the man she seems to look for?  It may divert this wildness.

Did she come down, said Laurana to Camilla, with the expectation of seeing him?