“In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may’st think my ’haviour light;
But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
*       *       *       *       *
*       *       *       *       *
*       *       *       *       *  therefore pardon me.”

At these words—­“Pardon me!  Pardon me for loving; pardon me for having let you know it!”—­There was in Corinne’s look, so tender a prayer and so much respect for her lover, so much exultation in her choice, when she said, “Noble Romeo!  Fair Montague!” that Oswald felt as proud as he was happy.  He raised his head, which tenderness had bowed down, and fancied himself the king of the world, since he reigned over a heart which contained all the treasures of life.

Corinne, perceiving the effect which she produced upon Oswald, became more and more animated by that emotion of the heart which alone produces miracles; and when at the approach of day, Juliet thought she heard the song of the lark—­a signal for the departure of Romeo, the accents of Corinne possessed a supernatural charm:  they described love, and nevertheless one might perceive that there was something of religious mystery in them, some recollections of heaven, with a presage that she was shortly to return thither; a kind of celestial melancholy, as of a soul exiled upon earth, but which was soon to be called to its divine home.  Ah! how happy was Corinne the day that she represented the part of a noble character in a beautiful tragedy before the lover of her choice; how many years, how many lives would appear dull, compared to such a day!

If Lord Nelville could have performed, with Corinne, the part of Romeo, the pleasure which she would have tasted would not have been so complete.  She would have desired to put aside the verses of the greatest poet in order to speak the dictates of her own heart; perhaps even her genius would have been confined by insurmountable timidity; she would not have dared to look at Oswald for fear of betraying herself, and truth would have destroyed the charm of art; but how sweet it was to know that he whom she loved was present when she experienced those exalted sentiments which poetry alone can inspire; when she felt all the charm of tender emotions, without their real pain; when the affection she expressed was neither personal nor abstract; and when she seemed to say to Lord Nelville, “See how I am able to love.”

It is impossible when the situation is our own to be satisfied with ourselves:  passion and timidity alternately transport and check us—­inspire us either with too much bitterness or too much submission; but to appear perfect without affectation; to unite calm to sensibility, which too frequently destroys it; in a word, to exist for a moment in the sweetest reveries of the heart; such was the pure enjoyment of Corinne in performing tragedy.  She united to this pleasure that of all the plaudits she received; and her look seemed to place them at the feet of Oswald, at the feet of him whose simple approval she valued more than all her fame.  Corinne was happy, at least for a moment! for a moment, at least, she experienced at the price of her repose, those delights of the soul which till then she had vainly wished for, and which she would ever have to regret!