The morning after his arrival I rose early. I heard my husband move about his room till a late hour, when silence proclaimed he had gone to rest. We no longer sank to rest, cradled in each other’s arms—and sometimes when my lonely, impassioned heart, fairly ached for companionship, I compared our present estrangement with the joyful hours we had formerly spent together; and then the midnight hour saw convulsions of passion, I should have been ashamed any one should witness, save that faithful, silent monitor, time; but it was no fault of mine: the gay roué, whose fickle fancy was momently caught by my beauty and virtue, had wearied by possession; the same face, the same enduring love, no longer attracted him; he had not known his own heart when he promised fidelity: he was incapable of it. I sometimes felt disposed to forgive him the wild life he had led during the past year, could I have seen any indications of a reformation; I could have returned to my old love, and have been happy once more, would he have acted differently, but he would not: to reproaches, alienations, and recriminations, had succeeded a polite coldness, which, between husband and wife, means far more than the alternations of hot and cold feeling.
I often wept myself to sleep, hugging my pillow to me for company; my mind dwelt in the past, or speculated on the future: it was void and empty, for it is only when we are with one we love that we live in the present, and who loved me now, who save old Pasiphae?
I sought the salon, where, to my surprise, I saw the count seated. On entering, he rose, placed a chair for me, and made some general observation on the beautiful day. I replied, seated myself, and fixed my eyes on the fire, for there was a magnetic attraction in those orbs that influenced me strangely when I met them;—the gentleman suddenly remarked,
“Madame, you are much improved since I first saw you, the night of your first appearance at Naples.”
“Ah! you saw me then at that time?”
“Yes, and I shall never forget your look, your manner, your acting and whole appearance: the tones of your voice, indeed the whole scene is engraven on my mind.”
The tone in which he said this, made the expression, and sent the blood to my cheek. How true it is, that looks and tones give the sense to conversation, far more than the words themselves; I knew not what reply to make to this extravagant compliment, and bowed in silence.
“I never thought my friend would ever marry,” he continued, I thought to relieve my obvious embarrassment,—“he used to be so volatile and gay; but I am glad he has, and that the correction of youthful errors has fallen to the guidance of one so gentle.” And as he looked at me, the same light shone in his eyes. “We have been almost like brothers for many years; at one time he was aide-de-camp to his majesty, and during that period we were constantly together; being older than he, I naturally advised and guided him; but now I see how much better he is tutored by that power that rules the world, the influence of love.”
The arch smile that played upon his lips, called the blushes to my cheeks, while my mournful heart, alas, too truthfully denied the assertion.
At this moment a servant announced the breakfast, and the count rising offered me his arm, and we went in together; Rinaldo was not there: I sent to request the honor of his presence, while the count entertained me delightfully, with a description of his journey to the shores of the Dead Sea, and travels in Arabia. His descriptive powers were fine, and I listened eagerly; we were thus engaged when Rinaldo entered; the lassitude and dissipated air my husband had acquired of late, from negligent habits, had never so forcibly struck me before, as then, when he came towards me; his eyes were sunken, his form thin, and the expression of his features cadaverous; he looked worn out: he smiled on his friend, said ‘good morning’ to me, then sat down on the other side of the table.