Lorenzo smiled, for he thought that he knew of whom she was thinking, and he remembered that, even in the bustle of the march, he had passed many an hour sitting listlessly on his horse, thinking of her.
"Well, I did not find her very easily, my lord," continued Antonio, "for it is a curious labyrinth of a place--villa, and gardens, and all--but a last I caught sight of something like a white robe just in the shade of a tall old cypress tree. The beautiful lady was very flattering to me; and I am a personable sort of a man, I believe, not easily to be forgotten when once seen. But she remembered me in a minute, and started up and ran forward to meet me, crying out, 'What news--what news, Antonio? Is he safe--is he well?' Then she gave me her hand to kiss, and I kissed it, and put your letter into it, and then she kissed the letter; but it was a hypocritical kiss, that, for she tore it the next minute in a very barbarous manner, in order to get at the inside. Then she kissed it again and read it. Then she read it again, and she did not speak a word for nearly half an hour, but went back and picked out little bits of the letter, just as a child picks the nice bits out of a pie."
"Out upon you, Antonio!" cried Lorenzo; "here the dear girl has been showing all the warm feelings of her heart only for you to laugh at."
"Indeed, I was more like to cry, for she herself cried in the end, and the tears flowed over the long black lashes and fell upon the letter, and had I been a crying person, I must fain have wept to keep her company. It is very funny, my lord, that people cry when they are extremely happy, for I am quite certain that Donna Leonora was not crying for sorrow then, and yet she cried as if her eyes were fountains of diamonds; and then she wiped them with her kerchief, and turned away her head and laughed, and said, 'This is very foolish, Antonio, but I have been dreaming of this letter's coming so long, and now it is so much sweeter than I thought it would be, that--' and then she forgot what she was going to say, or perhaps she never intended to say anything more; but I understand very well what she meant, for all that."
Antonio paused, but Lorenzo was not yet half satisfied. He taxed the man's memory to the utmost. I am not sure he did not tax his imagination also to tell him every word, and to describe every look of Leonora. Then he made him speak of the villa; and there Antonio was quite at home, for, during the three days he had stayed, nothing had escaped his attention. He knew every corner in the house, and every walk or terrace in the gardens; and a strange, wild, rambling place it must have been, the manifold intricacies of which spoke but too plainly the terrible and lawless times which existed at the time of its construction, and which, alas! existed still.
The ruins may still be seen upon the slope of the Apennines, and many a passage and chamber may be found lighted only by the rays which can find their way through a thin plate of marble undistinguishable on the outside from the wall or rock. The light thus afforded, be it remarked, though dim, and at first hardly sufficient to guide the footsteps, is mild and pleasant, and the eye soon becomes accustomed to it.
Mona Francesca and sweet Leonora d'Orco have passed away; the walls have crumbled, and in many parts fallen; on base, and capital, and fluted column wild weeds and tangling briers have rooted themselves, but a short, smooth turf, dotted with the deep-blue gentia, leads from the high road to the villa; and where several terraces once cut upon the side of the hill, may still be traced, and over which the feet of Leonora once daily walked, a thick covering of short myrtle, with its snowy stars, has sprung up, as if fragrance and beauty rose from her very tread.
Antonio described the place as it then was, and the young lover fancied he could see the first, dearest object of his ardent nature wandering amid the cypresses which led in along avenue from the villa to the convent higher up the hill, or seated upon the terrace looking toward Naples and counting, with the painful longing which he felt in his own heart, the long hours which had to elapse ere they could meet again.
It seemed as if Antonio's eyes could look into his heart, for just at the moment when that longing had reached its highest point, he said quietly, "I wonder, my lord, that you do not quit this French service and court, and here, in our own beautiful Italy, spend the rest of your days, when you have here large estates, and the loveliest and sweetest lady in all the world ready to give you her hand for the asking. On my life, I would take the cup of happiness when it is full. Heaven knows, if you let it pass, how empty it may be when it comes round again, if ever."
Wise, wise Antonio! you have learned early the truth of the words of your old patron,