“Lorenzo,” said I all at once, “why not take me with you, instead of leaving me here?” “To the war?” said he, smiling. “No, but to Italy. You could leave me, no matter where. On the other side of the Alps I should be near you, and … should you have need of me, I could go to you.” He remained thoughtful for a moment, and then said, as if speaking to himself: “Yes, should I be wounded, and have time to see you again, it would be a consolation, it is true.” We became silent again, and I awaited his decision with a beating heart. Finally he said in a decided tone: “No, Ginevra, it cannot be. Remain here. It is my wish. You must.” “Why?” asked I, trying to keep back the tears that burst from my eyes at his reply--“why? Oh! tell me why?” “Because,” replied he firmly, “I have no idea what will be the result of the war in Italy. Very probably it will cause insurrections everywhere, perhaps revolutions.” “O my God!” cried I with terror … “and you expect me not to feel any horror at this war! Even if it had not come to overturn my poor life, how can I help shuddering at the thought of all the misery it is about to produce?” “What can you expect, Ginevra? Yes, it is a serious affair. God alone knows what it will lead to. You see Mario writes Sicily is already a-flame. No one can tell what will take place at Naples. I should not be easy about you anywhere but here.… No, Ginevra, you cannot go. You must remain here. I insist upon it.” I knew, from the tone in which he said this, it was useless to insist, and I bent my head in silence. He gently continued, as he pressed my hand in his: “The war will be short, I hope, Ginevra. If I am spared, I will hasten to resume the dear life we have led here. But if, on the contrary.…” He stopped a moment, then, with a sudden change of manner and an accent I shall never forget, he continued: “But why speak to you as I should to any other woman? Why not trust to the inward strength you possess, which has as often struck me as your sweetness of disposition? I know now where your strength comes from, and will speak to you without any circumlocution.” I looked at him with surprise at this preamble, and by the soft evening light I saw a ray of heaven in his eyes; for they beamed with faith and humility as he uttered the following words: “Why deceive you, Ginevra? Why not tell you I feel this is the last hour we shall ever pass together in this world?” I shuddered. He put his arm around my waist, and drew me towards him. “No, do not tremble!… Listen to me.… If I feel I am to die, I have always thought a life like mine required some other expiation besides repentance. The happiness you have afforded me is not one, and who knows if its continuation might not become a source of danger to me? Whereas to die now would be something; it would be a sacrifice worthy of being offered … and accepted.” My head had again fallen on his shoulder, and my heart beat so rapidly I was not able to reply.