"Thou canst not have seen him very often: it is but some four or five weeks since his return to Rome." "Oh, how dull art thou ?" answered the fair Irene.

"Have I not told thee again and again, that I loved him six years ago ?" "When thou hadst told but thy tenth year, and a doll would have been thy most suitable lover! As I am a Christian, Signora, thou hast made good use of thy time.
"And during his absence," continued the girl, fondly, yet sadly, "did I not hear him spoken of, and was not the mere sound of his name like a love-gift that bade me remember?
And when they praised him, have I not rejoiced?
and when they blamed him, have I not resented?
and when they said that his lance was victorious in the tourney, did I not weep with pride?
and when they whispered that his vows were welcome in the bower, wept I not as fervently with grief?
Have not the six years of his absence been a dream, and was not his return a waking into light--a morning of glory and the sun?
and I see him now in the church when he wots not of me; and on his happy steed as he passes by my lattice: and is not that enough of happiness for love ?" "But if he loves not thee ?" "Fool! I ask not that;--nay, I know not if I wish it.

Perhaps I would rather dream of him, such as I would have him, than know him for what he is.

He might be unkind, or ungenerous, or love me but little; rather would I not be loved at all, than loved coldly, and eat away my heart by comparing it with his.

I can love him now as something abstract, unreal, and divine: but what would be my shame, my grief, if I were to find him less than I have imagined! Then, indeed, my life would have been wasted; then, indeed, the beauty of the earth would be gone!" The good nurse was not very capable of sympathizing with sentiments like these.