Corona did not think it necessary to express her assent in words.  Faustina opened the note, which contained the following words, written in Gouache’s delicate French handwriting—­

“Mademoiselle—­When you have read these lines, you will understand my object in writing them, for you understand me, and you know that all I do has but one object.  A few days ago it was still possible for us to meet frequently.  The terrible affliction which has fallen upon you, and in which none can feel deeper or more sincere sympathy than I, has put it out of your power and out of mine to join hands and weep over the present, to look into each other’s eyes and read there the golden legend of a future happiness.  To meet as we have met, alone in the crowded church—­ no! we cannot do it.  For you, at such a time, it would seem like a disrespect to your father’s memory.  For myself, I should deem it dishonourable, I should appear base in my own eyes.  Did I not go to him and put to him the great question?  Was I not repulsed—­I do not say with insult, but with astonishment—­at my presumption?  Shall I then seem to take advantage of his death—­of his sudden and horrible death—­to press forward a suit which he is no longer able to oppose?  I feel that it would be wrong.  Though I cannot express myself as I would, I know that you understand me, for you think as I do.  How could it be otherwise?  Are we not one indivisible soul, we two?  Yes, you will understand me.  Yes, you will know that it is right.  I go therefore, I leave Rome immediately.  I cannot inhabit the same city and not see you.  But I cannot quit the Zouaves in this time of danger.  I am therefore going to Viterbo, whither I am sent through the friendly assistance of one of our officers.  There I shall stay until time has soothed your grief and restored your mother to health.  To her we will turn when the moment has arrived.  She will not be insensible to our tears and entreaties.  Until then good-bye—­ah! the word is less terrible than it looks, for our souls will be always together.  I leave you but for a short space—­no!  I leave your sweet eyes, your angel’s face, your dear hands that I adore, but yourself I do not leave.  I bear you with me in a heart that loves you—­God knows how tenderly”

Corona read the letter carefully to the end.  To her older appreciation of the world, such a letter appeared at first to be the forerunner of a definite break, but a little reflection made her change her mind.  What he said was clearly true, and corresponded closely with Faustina’s own view of the case.  The most serious obstacle to the union of the lovers had been removed by Prince Montevarchi’s death, and it was inconceivable that Gouache should have ceased to care for Faustina at the very moment when a chance of his marrying her had presented itself.  Besides, Corona knew Gouache well, and was not mistaken in her estimate of his character.  He was honourable to Quixotism, and perfectly capable of refusing to