She had become entirely divided from the world, in order to devote herself entirely to her passion for Oswald.  But at length, so much affected was she at his silence with regard to the future, that she resolved to accept an invitation for a ball to which she had been pressingly solicited.  Nothing is more common at Rome than to leave society and to appear in it again, alternately, just as the parties feel it agreeable to themselves:  it is the country where people trouble their minds the least with what is elsewhere called gossip; each one does as he pleases, without any person enquiring about it, or at least, without finding in others any obstacle either to his love or his ambition.  The Romans are as inattentive to the conduct of their fellow-countrymen, as to that of strangers, who pass and repass through their city, the rendezvous of Europeans.  When Lord Nelville knew that Corinne was going to the ball, he was vexed at it.  He thought he had perceived in her for some time a melancholy disposition in sympathy with his own:  all on a sudden she appeared to him to be taken up with dancing, an art in which she excelled; and her imagination seemed fired at the approach of a fete.  Corinne was not frivolous by character; but she felt herself every day more and more enslaved by her love for Oswald, and she would fain endeavour to weaken its force.  She knew by experience, that reflection and sacrifices have less effect upon passionate characters than dissipation, and she thought that reason did not consist in conquering ourselves according to rules, but by doing so how we can.

“I must,” said she to Lord Nelville, who reproached her with her intention of going to the ball, “I must know, however, if there be only you in the world who can fill the void of my life; if that which pleased me formerly may not still have the power to amuse me; and if the sentiment you have inspired me with must absorb every other interest, every other idea.”—­“You would then cease to love me?” replied Oswald.—­“No;” answered Corinne, “but it is only in domestic life that it could be pleasing to me to feel thus governed by a single affection.  To me who need my talents, my mind, and my imagination, to support the lustre of that kind of life which I have adopted, it must be painful—­extremely painful to love as I love you.”—­“You would not sacrifice to me then,” said Oswald to her, “this homage and this glory.”—­“Of what importance can it be to you,” said Corinne, “to know whether or not I would sacrifice them to you?  Since we are not absolutely destined for one another, it would not be prudent to let that happiness with which I must be satisfied, wither for ever.”—­Lord Nelville made no answer, because it was necessary, in expressing his sentiments, to avow also the purpose they inspired, and of this his own heart was still in ignorance.  He was silent therefore, and sighing, followed Corinne to the ball, whither he went with much reluctance.