At last I yielded to his pressing entreaties, moved greatly by a vague hope I had always kept of seeing again the old Countess Borghi, of whose death I had never positively heard.
When I got to Italy I made inquiries about her which resulted in my hearing that she had died when I was scarcely nine years old.
My father, aunt and brother joined me at the hotel where I had put up for the time; they were all in excellent health.
My brother became my intimate confidant; I told him all my affairs and put all my concerns into his hands, delegating my authority to him.
Very soon I noticed that he was received very coldly in the good houses to which I took him; I asked one of my old friends the reason for this, to be told by her that the young man, having behaved very badly during the course of his studies at the University of Pisa, where he took his degree in Law, had brought back with him a doubtful reputation, which day by day grew worse.
My own experience promptly showed me that these suspicions were far from being without foundation; and thenceforth I left off confiding in him.…
For two consecutive years I took every care of my father; not only did I provide for his wants, but I invited him to my table; I desired him to come to the parties I gave; I tried to cheer him up by my talk; I made much of him; while, on his side, he always showed me the most profound respect, never calling me anything but milady, and behaving to me like a humble retainer.
In vain I implored him to remember that I owed my existence to him; to call me his daughter and to treat me like one; I saw that my loving reproaches awoke no sweet transports of paternal affection. He scarcely ventured to look me in the face, and spoke only of his gratitude, constantly repeating that I had been his lucky star and mumbling the word “Borghi” and another that he never finished.
This confusion and these many mysterious speeches seemed to me the signs of approaching mental aberration and made me very uneasy.