The lady in question is, as you say, a poor
artist; not, perhaps, as you were also kind enough to say, one quite
of the same kind as yourself, neither so successful nor so
celebrated"--he hastened to add as he saw a sudden paleness come
over the face of the singer, and an expression sudden and rapidly
repressed and effaced, of such a concentration of wrath and hatred
in her eyes, that momentary as it was, pulled him up short with
something very much akin to a feeling resembling fear--"an artist
neither so successful nor so celebrated as the Signora Lalli, but,
nevertheless, a lady whom it is the dearest wish of my heart to call
my wife."
"She is indeed, then, a most fortunate and happy woman," said
Bianca, who had perfectly recovered herself, with grave gentleness;
"and I am sure that neither I nor any sister artist have any right
to envy her her happiness. Would it seem presumption in a poor
comedian to express her earnest wish that you, too, Signor Ludovico,
may find your happiness in such a marriage?"
"Nay, don't speak in that tone!" said Ludovico, putting out his hand
and taking hers, which she readily gave him. "I accept your good
wishes, Signora, most thankfully. I do hope and think that I--that
we shall find happiness in our mutual choice. But, pray observe,
Signora, that our talk has led me into confiding a secret to you,
that I have, as yet, told to no living soul, and that it is
important to me it should be kept secret yet awhile longer.
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