"I will try," said Felina. "I have been forced to adopt strange and extreme means," added she, with a smile. "You know serious cases require violent remedies, and I had no choice." "Felina," said the Count, with emotion, "I have just committed an offence against you, for which I blush, and which my frankness alone can excuse. When you were busy in my behalf I fancied you the cause of my troubles." "That is very natural, and I am not at all surprised," said the Duchess. "People in this world are not apt to repay evil with good. I, however, do not wish to appear to you to be better than I am. Perhaps I am less deserving than you think. Time, it is said, cures the greatest mortifications, and dissipates the deepest passions. Three months ago I did not think it possible that I could have acted thus on your behalf. Then I was but a poor despised woman, passionate and deserted. Now I am your friend, sincere and devoted." "You are an angel," said the Count, with a deep transport of gratitude. "An angel," said the Duchess. "Then there are only good angels. But," continued she, as if she were unwilling to suffer the Count to think on what she had said, "let us descend from heaven, where you give me so excellent a resting place, to earth. Speak to me of your plans and of her you love." "Of her I love!" said the Count, with hesitation. "Certainly; have not all your old hopes returned? Has not the death of the Marquis revived your old passion?" "Felina," said the Count, "should I talk to you of such matters?" "Why not? am I not the first to mention them? You must, from my _sang-froid_, see that I can now listen to your confessions and hear all your tender sentiments. The French proverb says: _'Il n'y a que le premier pas qui coute_;'[8] I have already taken that. Treat me as a sister, but as a sister you love, and let me at least have the satisfaction of knowing that my self-denial has made you happy." "Happy!" said the Count, relapsing into sad thoughts, "may I always be happy, as you seem to wish me! I do not know that I may not hope some day for her to share my fate. She once refused my hand. I do not know but that her heart at last listens to mine; but that which Count Monte-Leone, amid all his luxury, once could offer, the poor and exiled Italian does not now propose." "Really," said Felina, "I am predestined to make you happy. By a single word I am about to dissipate the clouds around you, and light up your brow and heart with joy." "That is impossible," said the Count. "I henceforth have nothing, and have lost even hope." "The present," said the Duchess, "is less sombre than you think it. You are yet rich, almost as you ever were." The features of the Count expressed the greatest astonishment.