But alas! there is no faith to be put in old women, especially those of the grade and condition of life which was filled by Mariana. They are all at heart duennas, and, strange to say, generally, however hard and cold their exteriors, feel a sympathy with the tenderness and warmth of youth. The old lady smiled as she left the old man; and perhaps she judged rightly that thus to restrain the actions and keep close supervision on the conduct of a young lady and a young lord upon a long journey through a distracted country was a task so much above her powers that it would be better not to attempt it. "I shall have enough to do to take care of my old bones upon a rough trotting horse during the day, and to rest them during the night, without minding other people's affairs," she said. "Besides, the Signor Lorenzo is a nice, honourable young man, and would do nothing that is wrong, I am sure; and the signora is quite discreet, and moreover, proud, which is better." Leonora and Lorenzo were full of joy and anticipation. Perhaps never in history was a long journey over rough roads, through a wild country, with the prospect of but poor accommodation anywhere but in the large cities, contemplated with so much wild joy. Fancy was like a bird escaped from its cage, and it soared over the future on expanded wings--soared high and sang. Every now and then, it is true, a feeling of she knew not what awe or dread came over Leonora's heart--a sensation as if of some danger--a fear of the very wideness of her range, of her perfect freedom from all control--a consciousness that she was a woman and was weak, and very much in love. But it soon passed away when she thought of Lorenzo's high and chivalrous spirit; and then she gave herself up to hope and joy again. Poor Blanche Marie was the only one to be pitied, and she was very sad. Even the thought that she was loved--that the timid dream of her youth's dawning twilight was already verified, could not console her. She was losing her loved companion, her bright cousin, and her lover all at once. For the loss of the two first, indeed, she had in some degree to blame herself; for, with girlish enthusiasm, she had resolved, from the moment she heard that Lorenzo was about to return to Italy, that he should fall in love with Leonora, and she rejoiced that all had gone according to her plans, but she would rather have had them remain at the Villa Rovera, and make love there beside her. Then, as to De Vitry, she would not have withheld him from the field of fame for the world; but she would rather have had the lists where glory was to be gained, at the back of the garden than far away at the end of Italy. Sometimes she asked herself if she really loved him--if she were not too young to know what love was; but then the pain she felt at the thought of his leaving her for months, perhaps for years, convinced her little heart that there was something in it which had never been there before.