All at once, distant steps were heard. At first they were light, then more positive and distinct as they resounded on the calcined rock which led to Tasso's house. A young man of twenty-five approached. He was almost overcome by the sultriness. A whip and spurs showed that he had just dismounted. He had left his horse in an orange grove. Overcome, he had sought a shelter, and remembering the ruins he had seen a few days before, hoped to find freshness and repose there. The poet's mansion, the roof of which had fallen in, did not answer his expectations. He hurried toward the very place where Aminta slept. His eyes, dazzled by the brilliant light, did not at first distinguish the young girl in the darkness of the grotto. After a few moments, however, his sight became stronger, and he was amazed at the white form which lay on the mossy seat. Gradually the form became more distinct, and finally the young stranger was able to distinguish a beautiful girl. Just then a brilliant sunlight passed over the top of the crumbling wall and fell on her, enwrapping her in golden light, and, as it were, framing her angelic head like a glory round one of Raphael's pictures. Henri de Maulear, such was the young man's name, fancied that an angelic vision stood before him. Had the princess Leonora's ghost visited the scenes Tasso loved so well? Had a great sculptor, Canova, in one of his charming deliriums reproduced the features of Tasso's mistress and placed his work in the grotto where the great poet sighed? Marble alone could compete with Aminta's whiteness. Her round and waxen arms seemed to have been formed of the purest Carara marble. Aminta uttered a sigh and dissipated the illusion of the stranger. It was not an admirable statue exhibited to him, but a work of nature. It was such a woman as a poetic and tender heart dreams of--a woman not to be loved, but adored. Love is earthly; adoration belongs to heaven.