"And what health! Touch but his cheek with a pin the blood should squirt."
"Who would be so cruel?"
"He is a rosebud washed in dew."
And they revenged themselves for their beaux' admiration of her by lavishing all their tenderness on him.
But one there was who was still among these butterflies but no longer of them.
The sight of the Princess Clælia had torn open his wound.
Scarce three months ago he had declined the love of that peerless creature; a love illicit and insane; but at least refined. How much lower had he fallen now.
How happy he must have been, when the blandishments of Clælia, that might have melted an anchorite, could not tempt him from the path of loyalty!
Now what was he? He had blushed at her seeing him in such company. Yet it was his daily company.
He hung over the boat in moody silence.