"
"What can you mean, Paolina? A different way of loving! I know but
of one way!" said Ludovico with a somewhat banal flourish.
"What would become of me, Ludovico mio," she said, now looking round
into his face, with a look in her deep true eyes, that made him feel
for the moment as though all the world were truly as nothing to him,
in comparison with her love;--"what would become of me, if you were
to cease to love me? I should wither away, and die. It is probably
what will happen to me!"
"Paolina!" he exclaimed, in a voice of strong reproach.
She put her hand upon his shoulder, as if to beg him to let her
complete what she wished to say, and continued,--
"But what would happen to you, if I were--it is impossible, but if I
were--to cease to love you? would not that show you, that there is a
difference between ways of loving?"
"No, cara mia, it would shew no such thing. Look now, Paolina! They
tell of lovers' perjuries. But I never said one word to you that I
did not believe to be true. Nor will I ever do so. Were you to be
taken from me, by your own heart, and your own act, or in any other
way, I do not believe that I should wither and die. But it does not
follow, that I should suffer less. I should live on, not because my
love is weaker, but because my body is stronger than yours.
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