There is a part of the Neapolitan dance where the heroine kneels, while the hero marches round her, like a conqueror. How dignified looked Corinne at that moment! What a sovereign she was on her knees! and when she rose, clashing her airy tambourine, she appeared animated by such enthusiasm of youthful beauty, that one might have thought she needed no life but her own to make her happy. Alas, it was not thus! though Oswald feared it, and sighed as if her every success separated her farther from him. When the Prince, in his turn knelt to Corinne, she, if possible, surpassed herself. Twice or thrice she fled round him, her sandalled feet skimming the floor with the speed of lightning; and when shaking her tambourine above his head with one hand, she signed with the other for him to rise, every man present was tempted to prostrate himself before her, except Lord Nevil, who drew back some paces, and d'Erfeuil, who made a step or two forwards, in order to compliment Corinne. The Italians gave way to what they felt, without one fear of making themselves remarkable. They were not like men so accustomed to society, and the self-love which it excites, as to think on the effect they might produce; they are never to be turned from their pleasures by vanity, nor from their purposes by applause. Corinne, charmed with the result of her attempt, thanked her friends with amiable simplicity. She was satisfied, and permitted her content to be seen, with childlike candor; her greatest desire was to get through the crowd to the door, against which Oswald was leaning. She reached it at last, and paused for him to speak. "Corinne," he said, endeavoring to conceal both his delight and his distress, "you have extorted universal homage: but is there, among all your adorers, one brave, one trusty friend; one protector for life? or can the clamors of flattery suffice a soul like yours?" [1] The dancing of Madame Récamier gave me the idea which I endeavored to express. This celebrated beauty, in the midst of afflictions, displayed so touching a resignation, so total a forgetfulness of self, that her moral qualities seem as extraordinary as her personal grace. CHAPTER II.