"You cannot understand—I do not wonder—how should you? And besides, I cannot tell you what it is."
"I wish I were you," answered her friend sadly. "I wish I were happy!"
"What is it, child?" asked Corona kindly. Then she led Faustina to a stiff old sofa at one end of the vast room and they sat down together. "What is it?" she repeated, drawing the girl affectionately to her side.
"You know what it is, dear. No one can help me. Oh, Corona! we love each other so very much!"
"I know—I know it is very real. But you must have a little patience, darling. Love will win in the end. Just now, too—" She did not finish the sentence, but she had touched a sensitive spot in Faustina's conscience.
"That is the worst of it," was the answer. "I am so miserable, because I know he never would have allowed it, and now—I am ashamed to tell you, it is so heartless!" She hid her face on her friend's shoulder.
"You will never be heartless, my dear Faustina," said Corona. "What you think, is not your fault, dear. Love is master of the world and of us all."
"But my love is not like yours, Corona. Perhaps yours was once like mine. But you are married—you are happy. You were saying so just now."
"Yes, dear. I am very, very happy, because I love very, very dearly.
You will be as happy as I am some day."
"Ah, that may be—but—I am dreadfully wicked, Corona!"