Babarina raised herself hastily, and leaning upon her elbow, she gazed with surprise upon her sister.  “You think, then, that I love Cocceji?”

“Did you not tell me so yourself?”

“Ah!  I said so myself, did I?” said Barbarina, contemptuously, and sinking back into her former quiet position.

“Yes, sister, do you not remember,” said Marietta, eagerly; “can you not recall how sad you were when we left Berlin a year ago?  You sobbed and wept, and looked ever backward from the carriage, then lightly whispered, ’My happiness, my life, my love remain in Berlin!’ I asked you in what your happiness, your love, your life consisted.  Your answer was, ’Do you not know, then, that I love Cocceji?’ In truth, good sister I did not believe you!  I thought you left Berlin because the mother of Cocceji implored you to do so.  I know you to be magnanimous enough to sacrifice yourself to the prayers and happiness of another, and for this reason alone you went to London, where Lord Stuart McKenzie awaited us.”

“Poor lord!” said Barbarina, thoughtfully.  “I sinned greatly against him!  He loved me fondly; he waited for me with constancy; he was so truly happy when I came at last, as he hoped, to fulfil my promise, and become his wife!  God knows I meant to be true, and I swore to myself to make him a faithful wife; but my will was weaker than my heart.  I could not marry him, and on my wedding-day I fled from London.  Poor Lord Stuart!”

“And on that day, when, bathed in tears, you told me to prepare to leave London with you secretly; on that day you said to me, ’I cannot, no, I cannot wed a man I do not love.  The air chokes me, Marietta; I must return to Berlin; he is there whom I love, whom I will love eternally!’ I said again, ‘Whom do you love, my sister?’ and you replied, ‘I love Cocceji!’ And now you are amazed that I believe you!  In it possible that I can doubt your word?  Is it possible that Barbarina tells an untruth to her fond and faithful sister? that she shrouds her heart, and will not allow Marietta to read what is written there?”

“If I did that,” said Barbarina, uneasily, “it was because I shrank from reading my own heart.  Be pitiful, Marietta, do not lift the veil; allow my poor heart to heal its wounds in peace and quiet.”

“It cannot heal, sister, if we remain here,” said Marietta, trembling with suppressed tears.  “Let us fly far, far away; accept the offer of Binatelli; it is the call of God.  Come, come, Barbarina, we will return to our own Italy, to beautiful Rome.  Remain no longer in this cold north, by these icy hearts!”

“I cannot, I cannot!” cried Barbarina, with anguish.  “I have no fatherland—­no home.  I am no longer a Roman, no longer an Italian.  I am a wretched, homeless wanderer.  Why will not my heart bleed and die?  Why am I condemned to live, and be conscious of this torture?”

“Stop, stop, my sister!” cried Marietta, wildly; “not another word!  You are right; we will not lift this fearful veil.  Cover up your heart in darkness—­it will heal!”