In spite of all Girardi’s exertions to place his daughter and his friend on an agreeable footing, their conversation turned only upon indifferent subjects, or trite remarks upon the dawning hopes of all parties. Having in some degree recovered from his emotion, Charney read, in the features of the lovely Piedmontese, only the most complete indifference; and persuaded himself that the services she had rendered him had been instigated by the impulses of a generous disposition; or, perhaps, by the commands of her father. Charney began almost to regret that the interview had taken place; for he felt that he could never more invest her, in his reveries, with her former fascinations. While all three were seated on the bench, Girardi, wrapt in contemplation of his daughter, and Charney giving utterance to a few cold, incoherent remarks, there escaped, from the folds of Teresa’s dress, as she was drawn suddenly forward, by the tender embrace of her father, a medallion of gold and crystal. On stooping to pick it up, Charney could readily discern that one side was occupied by a lock of her father’s gray hair, and the other by a withered flower. He looked again; he gazed anxiously; he could not mistake it. The hidden treasure was the identical flower of Picciola which he had sent her by Ludovico. Teresa had kept his flower, then—had preserved it—treasured it with the gray hairs of her father—the father whom she adored! The flower of Picciola no longer adorned the raven tresses of the young girl, but rested upon her heart! This discovery produced an instantaneous revolution in the sentiments of Charney. He began to consider the charms of Teresa, as if a new personage had offered herself to his observation—as if he had seen her metamorphosed by enchantment before his eyes. The Count now perceived that, as she turned her expressive looks towards her father, the two-fold character of tenderness and placidity impressed upon her beauty, was analogous with that of Raphael’s Madonnas—that she was lovely with the loveliness of a pure and perfect soul. Charney retraced, with deliberate admiration, her animated profile—her countenance, expressive of the union of strength and softness, energy and timidity. It was long since he had looked upon a new human face—how much longer since he had contemplated, in combination, youth, beauty, and virtue! The spectacle seemed to intoxicate his senses; and, after a glance at the graceful form and perfect symmetry of Teresa Girardi, his wandering eyes fixed themselves once more on the medallion. “You did not disdain my humble offering, then!” faltered the Count; and faint as was the whisper in which the words were conveyed, they roused the pride of Teresa; who, advancing her hand to receive the trinket, replaced it hurriedly in her dress. But at that moment she was struck by the change of expression visible in the features of the Count; and both their faces became suffused with blushes.