“I believe you, dearest, and my happiness is indeed great if you feel that your love for me cannot be increased.  But learn also, delight of my heart, that I have done it all only to try to love you even more than I do, if possible.  I wish to see you beautiful and brilliant in the attire of your sex, and if there is one drop of bitterness in the fragrant cup of my felicity, it is a regret at not being able to surround you with the halo which you deserve.  Can I be otherwise than delighted, my love, if you are pleased?”

“You cannot for one moment doubt my being pleased, and as you have called me your wife you are right in one way, but if you are not very rich I leave it to you to judge how deeply I ought to reproach myself.”

“Ah, my beloved angel! let me, I beg of you, believe myself wealthy, and be quite certain that you cannot possibly be the cause of my ruin.  You were born only for my happiness.  All I wish is that you may never leave me.  Tell me whether I can entertain such a hope.”

“I wish it myself, dearest, but who can be sure of the future?  Are you free?  Are you dependent on anyone?”

“I am free in the broadest meaning of that word, I am dependent on no one but you, and I love to be so.”

“I congratulate you, and I am very glad of it, for no one can tear you from my arms, but, alas! you know that I cannot say the same as you.  I am certain that some persons are, even now, seeking for me, and they will not find it very difficult to secure me if they ever discover where I am.  Alas!  I feel how miserable I should be if they ever succeeded in dragging me away from you!”

“You make me tremble.  Are you afraid of such a dreadful misfortune here?”

“No, unless I should happen to be seen by someone knowing me.”

“Are any such persons likely to be here at present?”

“I think not.”

“Then do not let our love take alarm, I trust your fears will never be verified.  Only, my darling one, you must be as cheerful as you were in Cesena.”

“I shall be more truly so now, dear friend.  In Cesena I was miserable; while now I am happy.  Do not be afraid of my being sad, for I am of a naturally cheerful disposition.”

“I suppose that in Cesena you were afraid of being caught by the officer whom you had left in Rome?”

“Not at all; that officer was my father-in-law, and I am quite certain that he never tried to ascertain where I had gone.  He was only too glad to get rid of me.  I felt unhappy because I could not bear to be a charge on a man whom I could not love, and with whom I could not even exchange one thought.  Recollect also that I could not find consolation in the idea that I was ministering to his happiness, for I had only inspired him with a passing fancy which he had himself valued at ten sequins.  I could not help feeling that his fancy, once gratified, was not likely at his time of life to become a more lasting