"And this is said by a fervent-souled Italian girl! One of eighteen years;--who comes of a region in which it is the boast that the heart is even warmer than the sun; of a race, among whom it is hard to find _one--oui,_ even a poor _one_--who is not ready to sacrifice home, country, hopes, fortune, nay, life itself, to give happiness to the man who has chosen her from all the rest of her sex." "It _would_ seem to _me_ easy to do all this, Raoul. _Si_--I think I could sacrifice everything you have named, to make _you_ happy! Home I have not, unless the Prince's Towers can thus be called; country, since the sad event of this week, I feel as if I had altogether lost; of hopes, I have few in this world, with which your image has not been connected; but those which were once so precious to me are now, I fear, lost; you know I have no fortune, to tempt me to stay, or you to follow; as for my life, I fear it will soon be very valueless--an sure it will be miserable." "Then why not decide at once, dearest Ghita, to throw the weight of your sorrows on the shoulders of one strong enough to bear them? You care not for dress or gay appearances, and can take a bridegroom even with the miserable aspect of a lazzarone, when you know the heart is right. You will not despise me because I am not decked as I might be for the bridal. Nothing is easier than to find an altar and a priest among these monasteries; and the hour for saying mass is not very distant. Give me a right to claim you, and I will appoint a place of rendezvous, bring in the lugger to-morrow night, and carry you off in triumph to our gay Provence; where you will find hearts gentle as your own, to welcome you with joy, and call you sister." Raoul was earnest in his manner, and it was not possible to doubt his sincerity. Though an air of self-satisfaction gleamed in his face, when he alluded to his present personal appearance, for he well knew all his advantages in that way, in spite of the dress of a lazzarone. "Urge me not, dear Raoul," Ghita answered, though, unconsciously to herself, she pressed closer to his side, and both sadness and love were in the very tones of her voice; "urge me not, dear Raoul; this can never be. I have already told you the gulf that lies between us; you _will_ not cross it, to join _me_, and I _cannot_ cross it, to join _you_. Nothing but _that_ could separate us; but that, to my eyes, grows broader and deeper every hour." "Ah, Ghita, thou deceivest me, and thyself. Were thy feelings as thou fanciest, no human inducement could lead thee to reject me." "It is not a human inducement, Raoul; it is one above earth, and all it holds." "_Peste_! These priests are scourges sent to torment men in every shape! They inflict hard lessons in childhood, teach asperity in youth, and make us superstitious and silly in age. I do not wonder that my brave compatriots drove them from France; they did nothing but devour like locusts, and deface the beauties of providence."