"''Twas indeed a sad epoch,' said the Prince, 'If it was the funeral of your talent.' "'I will never sing again!' said the Duchess, 'I remember that day as I do all the unhappy ones of my life. Ah! they are far more numerous than our happy days. It was evening, and in a gay room of my villa, whither I had come still trembling at having seen a traveller nearly drowned in the lake. I know not what sad yet pleasant memory was nursed in my heart, but I went to my piano and sung an air I had sung for the last time at San Carlo. Tell me, Count Monte-Leone--you were there--what was it?' "'_La Griselda._' "'It was. On that evening all my enthusiasm returned to me. While singing, however, a strange fancy took possession of me. I thought I saw in the mirror in front of me, the features of one who had long been dead--dead at least to me. My emotion was so instinct with terror and happiness, that since then I have not sung.' "'That is a perfect romance,' said the Prince, 'like those of the dreamy Hoffman I met at Vienna.' "'No, sir, it is a fact, or rather the commencement of a series of facts, which, however, will interest no one here. For that reason I do not tell it.' "The Duchess of Palma rose to leave. The Prince offered her his hand. "'No, Prince,' said she, 'I will not trouble you, for I am about to ask the Count to accompany me. Excuse me,' said she, 'excuse me for taking him away, but I need not use ceremony with a countryman.' "Without giving him time to reply, she passed her arm through his, went out, or rather dragged him out with her. "I do not know why, dear mother, I have told you all this long story, which has led me to write far differently from what I had intended. I like, though, to talk so much with you; and then the visit of the Count and that Duchess agitated me, I know not why. Some instinct tells me those mysterious beings exert an influence over my life. You think me foolish and strange--but what can I do? I am now so sad that I seem to look at life through a dark veil. I am wrong, am I not? Reassure yourself and tell me what you think of my husband's conduct. That, most of all, interests "Your own AMINTA. "P.S.--The Prince, the Countess and myself in vain waited all day for the Marquis. It is now midnight and he has not yet come." X.--JEALOUSY. A month had passed since the Marquise had written to her mother, during which time the Marquis, more sedulous in his attentions to Aminta, had begun to make her forget her fears and suspicions. A new event, though, aroused them again.