He had placed himself on a special pedestal,
from which such a liaison would involve a fall. And such a fall, or
the danger of such a fall, was very dreadful to the Marchese. There
was the Cardinal; there were the good nuns, whose affairs he
managed, and who looked on him as a saint on earth. Worst of all
there was his nephew. How preach to him (terribly necessary as such
preaching might be) under such circumstances?
To be sure, there was no need of doing whatever he might do in such
sort that the whole town should be his confidant. He had as good
opportunities for secrecy as could be desired. Theatrical business
and his recognized connection with it was an abundant and
unsuspected excuse for as much conversation with the lady,--as many
interviews as he might wish. It seemed safe enough upon the whole.
And yet these considerations did not avail to take the frown from
the Marchese's brow, or bring his perplexed self-examination to an
end. The very evident disposition of the lady to be kind did not
avail to please him. Instead of being pleased and triumphant at the
probable prospect of so enviable a bonne fortune, he was displeased,
unhappy, irritated, angry--angry with himself and with the sorceress
who had thrown this spell on him. How was it? By what charm had she
bewitched him so? Already he was impatient, longing to be back again
in her presence.
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