The admirable union of two voices perfectly in tune produces an ecstasy that cannot be prolonged without pain: it is a blessing too great for humanity, which vibrates like an instrument broken beneath too perfect a harmony. Oswald had remained perversely apart from Corinne during the first act of the concert; but when the duets began in low voices, accompanied by the notes of clarionets and hautboys, purer even than their own, Corinne veiled her face, absorbed by emotion; she wept without suffering, and loved without dread; the image of Oswald was in her bosom; but a host of thoughts wandered too far to be distinct, even to herself. It is said that a prophet, in one moment, explored seven regions of heaven. Whoever can thus conceive the all which an instant may contain must have heard sweet music beside the object of his love. Oswald felt its power; his resentment decreased; the tenderness of Corinne explained and justified everything; he drew near her; she heard him breathing close by, at the most enchanting period of this celestial harmony: it was too much; the most pathetic tragedy could not have so overwhelmed her as did the sense of _their_ both being equally penetrated by the same sounds, at the same instant: each fresh tone exalted the consciousness. The words sung were nothing; now and then allusions to love and death induced some recollection; but oftener did music alone suggest and realize the formless wish, as doth some pure and tranquil star, wherein we seem to see the image of all we could desire on earth. "Let us go," sighed Corinne: "I feel fainting."--"What is it, love?" asked Oswald, anxiously: "you are pale. Come into the air with me." They went together: her strength returned, as she leaned upon his arm; and she faltered forth, "Dear Oswald, I am about to leave you for eight days."--"What say you?" he cried.--"Every year," she answered, "I spend Passion week in a convent, to prepare for Easter." Oswald could not oppose, aware that most of the Roman ladies devoted themselves to pious severities at that time, even if careless of religion during the rest of the year; but he remembered that Corinne's faith and his own were not the same: they could not pray together. "Why are you not my countrywoman?" he exclaimed. "Our souls have but one country," she replied.--"True," he said; "yet I cannot the less feel everything that divides us." And this coming absence so dismayed him, that neither to Corinne, nor the friends who now joined them, could he speak another word that evening. CHAPTER III.