imagination was lively; there was in her heart a great capacity for love; but talent, especially in a woman, begets a disposition to weariness, a want of something to divert the attention, which the most profound passion cannot make entirely disappear.  The idea of a monotonous life, even in the midst of happiness, makes a mind which stands in need of variety, to shudder with fear.  It is only when there is little wind in the sails, that we can keep close to shore; but the imagination roves at large, although affection be constant; it is so, at least, till the moment when misfortune makes every inconsistency disappear, and leaves but one thought and one grief in the mind.

Oswald attributed the reverie of Corinne solely to the embarrassment into which she had been thrown by hearing herself called Lady Nelville; and reproaching himself for not having released her from that embarrassment he feared she might suspect him of levity.  He began therefore in order to arrive at the long-desired explanation by offering to relate to her his own history.  “I will speak first,” said he, “and your confidence will follow mine.”  “Yes, undoubtedly it must,” answered Corinne, trembling; “but tell me at what day—­at what hour?  When you have spoken, I will tell you all.”—­“How agitated you are,” answered Oswald; “what then, will you ever feel that fear of your friend, that mistrust of his heart?” “No,” continued Corinne; “it is decided; I have committed it all to writing, and if you choose, to-morrow—­” “To-morrow,” said Lord Nelville, “we are to go together to Vesuvius; I wish to contemplate with you this astonishing wonder, to learn from you how to admire it; and in this very journey, if I have the strength, I will make you acquainted with the particulars of my past life.  My heart is determined; thus my confidence will open the way to yours.”  “So you give me to-morrow,” replied Corinne; “I thank you for this one day.  Ah! who knows whether you will be the same for me when I have opened my soul to you?  And how can I feel such a doubt without shuddering?”

Chapter iv.

The ruins of Pompei are near to Mount Vesuvius, and Corinne and Lord Neville began their excursion with these ruins.  They were both silent; for the moment approached which was to decide their fate, and that vague hope they had so long enjoyed, and which accords so well with the indolence and reverie that the climate of Italy inspires, was to be replaced by a positive destiny.  They visited Pompei together, the most curious ruin of antiquity.  At Rome, seldom any thing is found but the remains of public monuments, and these monuments only retrace the political history of past ages; but at Pompei it is the private life of the ancients which offers itself to the view, such as it was.  The Volcano, which has covered this city with ashes, has preserved it from the destroying hand of Time.  Edifices, exposed to the air, never