“This is my wife,” said Stein, “my Mariquita.”
“Who possesses,” said the duke with enthusiasm, “the most wonderful voice in the world. Señora, I have visited all the theatres of Europe, but never have enchanting accents excited me to this point of admiration.”
If the brown and lustrous skin of Marisalada could change to another color, the blush of pride and pleasure would have shown in her cheeks, when she heard these exalted praises from the lips of so eminent a person, and so competent a judge.
“You two,” continued the duke, “have all that you could require to make your way in the world; and you would remain hidden in obscurity, and forgotten! This must not be. Will you not let society share in your brilliant qualities? I repeat, this cannot be, this must not be.”
“We are so happy here, duke,” replied Stein, “that if I make the least change in my situation I would believe myself an ingrate towards my destiny.”
“Stein,” exclaimed the duke, “where is that firm and calm courage which I admired in you when we were on the voyage together on board the ‘Royal Sovereign?’ What have you done with your love of science, the desire to consecrate yourself to suffering humanity? Have you allowed yourself to be enervated by your happiness? Can it be true that felicity renders a man selfish?”
Stein drooped his head.
“Señora,” continued the duke, “at your age, and with these happy gifts of nature, can you decide to remain forever attached to this rock, and to these ruins?”
Mariquita, whose heart beat under the influence of an ardent joy and a tempting hope, replied with, however, an apparent coldness—
“What will I gain by it?”