Nor did Albano recognize the delicate running-hand; Julienne loved the French language even to its letters, but Liana's resembled not the scrawled Gallic protocols, but the neatly-rounded handwriting of the English. Here is her leaf at last. O thou lovely being! how long have I thirsted for the first sounds of thy refreshing soul! "Sunday Morning. "... But to-day, Elisa, I am so profoundly happy, and the evening-mist is transformed to an aurora in heaven. I ought not to give thee yesterday's work at all. I was too much troubled. But might not my dear mother, who had come hither merely for my sake, become thereby still sicker, whatever appearances of tolerable health she might, for that very reason, assume with me? And then came thy form, beloved one, and all thy sorrow and the painful neighborhood,[86] and our last evening here. O how reproachfully did all that pass before my heavy heart! So, as we stopped before the house of dear Chariton, and she kissed my mother's hand with tears of joy; then was I so weak that I too turned aside and shed tears, but other tears,--I wept for the rejoicing one herself, who indeed could not know whether at that hour her precious friend in Rome might not be sick or dying. "But now the dark, gray mist is wholly blown away from the flower-garden of thy little Linda, and all the blossoms of life shine in their pure, high colors before her. After midnight my mother's headache passed almost entirely away, and she was still sleeping so sweetly this morning. O, what were my feelings then! Soon after five o'clock I went down into the garden and shrunk back at the splendor which burned in the dew and between the leaves; the sun was just looking in under the triumphal gates,--all the lakes sparkled in a broad fire,--a gleaming haze floated like a saintly halo around the edge of the earth which the heaven touched,--and a high waving and singing streamed through the splendor of morn. "And into this unlocked world I had come back restored and so happy. I wanted continually to cry out: 'I have thee again, thou bright sun! and you, ye lovely flowers! and ye proud mountains, ye have not changed! and ye are green again, and, like me, renewed, ye sweet scented trees!' I floated, as if transfigured, in an endless felicity, Elisa, weak, but light and free; I had, so it seemed to me, put off this burdensome clay under the earth and kept only the beating heart, and in my enraptured bosom warm tear-fountains gushed down, as if over flowers, and covered them with brightness.