But--I did not expect pain from the Marchese
Lamberto di Castelmare. I--I thought--I hoped--I--I flattered
myself--fool, idiot fool that I have been!" she exclaimed, bursting
into violent sobs, and hiding her face with her hands.
The Marchese was startled and utterly taken aback for a minute or
two. He was genuinely at a loss to interpret the cause or the
meaning of the lady's emotion. His puzzled embarrassment did not,
however, prevent him from seeing that she looked, if possible, more
fascinatingly beautiful in her grief and her tears than he had ever
before seen her. And, again, despite what she had said, he knelt
down by the side of the sofa, and gently removing her hands from
before her face, murmured in her ear,--
"Bianca, what is it--what is moving you so? Don't you know that you
are dear to me;--that I would--Don't you know that I would do
anything to be agreeable to you rather than give you any sorrow or
pain? What is there within my power that I would not do? Bianca,--
let me tell you--let me speak the truth--I cannot keep it in my own
heart any longer--I love you! You have come to be all that I care
for in the world. Bianca, do you hear me? For your love I would
sacrifice all,--everything in the world; I die without it; I must
have it--I must! You have been loved before; but never as I love
you--never, never! And, Bianca, I--I--Bianca, you are my first love-
-my only love.
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