The one is as unheeding as the other." Gonzaga sighed profoundly, in sympathy, but said nothing.
Here was a grief to which he could not minister, a grievance that he could do nothing to remove.

She turned from him with a gesture of impatience.
"You sigh," she exclaimed, "and you bewail the cruelty of the fate in store for me.

But you can do nothing for me.

You are all words, Gonzaga.
You can call yourself more than my friend--my very slave.

Yet, when I need your help, what do you offer me?
A sigh!" "Madonna, you are unjust," he was quick to answer, with some heat.