On the morning of her departure, Prince Castel-Forte visited her, and said with tears in his eyes: "Will you not return to Rome?" "Oh, _Mon Dieu_, yes!" replied she, "we shall be back in a month."--"But if you marry Lord Nelville you must leave Italy!" "Leave Italy!" said Corinne, with a sigh.--"This country," continued Prince Castel-Forte, "where your language is spoken, where you are so well known, where you are so warmly admired, and your friends, Corinne--your friends! Where will you be beloved as you are here? Where will you find that perfection of the imagination and the fine arts, so congenial to your soul? Is then our whole life composed of one sentiment? Is it not language, customs, and manners, that compose the love of our country; that love which creates a home sickness so terrible to the exile?" "Ah, what is it you tell me," cried Corinne, "have I not felt it? Is it not that which has decided my fate?"--She regarded mournfully her room and the statues that adorned it, then the Tiber which rolled its waves beneath her windows, and the sky whose beauty seemed to invite her to stay. But at that moment Oswald crossed the bridge of St Angelo on horseback, swift as lightning. "There he is!" cried Corinne. Hardly had she uttered these words, when he was already arrived,--she ran to meet him, and both impatient to set out hastened to ascend the carriage. Corinne, however, took a kind farewell of Prince Castel-Forte; but her obliging expressions were lost in the midst of the cries of postillions, the neighing of horses, and all that bustle of departure, sometimes sad, and sometimes intoxicating, according to the fear or the hope which the new chances of destiny inspire. Book xi. NAPLES AND THE HERMITAGE OF ST SALVADOR. [Illustration] Chapter i. Oswald was proud of carrying off his conquest; he who felt himself almost always disturbed in his enjoyments by reflections and regrets, for once did not experience the pangs of uncertainty. It was not that he was decided, but he did not think about it and followed the tide of events hoping it would lead him to the object of his wishes. They traversed the district of Albano[32], where is still shown what is believed to be the tomb of the Horatii and the Curiatii. They passed near the lake of Nemi and the sacred woods that surround it. It is said that Hippolitus was resuscitated by Diana in these parts; she would not permit horses to approach it, and by this prohibition perpetuated the memory of her young favourite's misfortune. Thus in Italy our memory is refreshed by History and Poetry almost at every step, and the charming situations which recall them, soften all that is melancholy in the past, and seem to preserve an eternal youth.