“Monsieur Belmont had breakfasted and gone out, when we reached home; we took ours; then Madame left me to attend to her domestic affairs, and I went to my room to practice my part in a new opera. I had been engaged thus two or three hours, when, looking out of my window, I saw a calesso drive up and stop before the door; my teacher got out, accompanied by a female, dressed in white, and enveloped in an enormous black lace veil. I caught a glimpse of her tiny feet as she lightly tripped out. Something familiar struck my memory as I glanced at that veiled form, an indefinite association of something or some one, I could not tell which, or what. They quickly entered the house, and I continued my musical studies, imagining it was some visitor of Madame’s, when Arla requested me to come to the parlor, a lady wished to see me. Many gentlemen had visited me since my arrival in Naples, but possessing not a single female acquaintance in the city, I puzzled myself in conjecture.
“Wondering who it could be, I descended the stairs; the sound of merry voices and laughter greeted my ears from the parlour: on entering it, I saw a group of three, standing in the middle of the room, their backs toward me. The lady I had seen from the window, was playfully arranging upon Monsieur’s broad shoulders her large lace veil; my guardian was gayly conversing, while Madame stood by talking and laughing with Italian enthusiasm. They formed a happy-looking, graceful trio. I paused a moment to look at them. The lady, happening to turn her head, saw me, uttered an exclamation of surprise, dropped the veil, and we rushed into each other’s arms;—it was Blanche!
“‘Ah!’ cried Monsieur, still trembling with laughter, from some unknown cause, ‘now I know Genevra will be happy; she has been wishing and longing for your arrival. Are you not mutually glad to see each other?’
“‘Ah, yes,’ answered Blanche, as she raised her head from my shoulder, and uplifted her beautiful dewy eyes to mine. ‘Genevra knows as well, better than I can tell her, how very happy I am at seeing her once more, after so many years of separation.’
“I said nothing myself, for it has ever been my nature to say the least when I feel most. And now, after the first congratulations were over, I looked at Blanche, to see what effect Time had wrought on her. She had grown much taller, and her form was rounder in its voluptuous beautiful outlines; her face still preserved its old expression of infantile innocence and sweetness, yet there was something altered about it: and, on attentively criticizing that fair face, I perceived a slight expression of scorn in the almost imperceptible curl of the delicate upper lip, and a melancholy languor, bordering on gloom, in the blue depths of those large eyes. Had some disappointment crossed her, or was she already weary of the world’s applause? She was a very handsome woman,—no wonder she should be admired.
“Her laugh was the same as ever; her merry, child-like laugh; how often had that joyous sound amused me amid the monotony of school discipline!
“Oh, my beloved friend! my beautiful Blanche! years have rolled their dark mists on my soul since that re-union. I have lived to weep over thy solitary grave: thy only mourner the hoarse resounding waves of the sea. That graceful form has long ago been food for worms: those lovely eyes glazed in death, and those long ringlets rotted to decay;—yet, whenever I recall thy gentleness, thy winning ways, and lofty soul, tears will start from their briny bed, to consecrate with grief thy sweet memory. Yes, if there be ‘a land of pure delight’ beyond this terrestrial sphere, I feel assured thy blest shade has entered beatitude.
“We went up stairs together to my room, and there she gave me a description of the principal events in her life since leaving Vienna. She was too sincerely unaffected and devoid of egotism to entertain me with her own conquests or matrimonial offers; but she spoke with tenderness of Inez; her well maintained popularity; her good temper; her still cherished fondness for myself; and, lastly, her approaching marriage with a wealthy merchant of Berlin, and consequent withdrawal from the stage.
“‘It is really true, then,’ I remarked, ‘that she is to be married. I heard so, but did not know how true the report might be. And you, Blanche, have you any idea of following her example?’
“A rose-tint, like the delicate hue of one of ocean’s shells, lingered for an instant on the snowy cheek of Blanche. It quickly disappeared, and she gravely, I thought, almost sorrowfully, replied: