"Is that the only recollection you bestow on an old friend?" said Marcus, who continued to watch her with a lynx's eyes.
"He is but a fellow artist," said Consuelo. "Such are not always friends."
"Would you not like to speak to him? We may go into the palace and send for him."
"If it be a test," said she, with some malice, for she began to observe how determined Marcus was, "I am ready, and will obey you. If, however, you wish to oblige me, let us have done with the affair."
"Must I stop here, brother?" said Karl, making a military salute with his oar.
"On, brother, fast," said Marcus; and in a few moments the boat passed over the basin, and lost itself in the undergrowth. The obscurity became intense: the torch in the gondola alone shed its light on the foliage. From time to time, amid the thicket, the sparkling of the lights in the palace were visible. The sounds of the orchestra died away. The bark, as it skirted along the bank, covered the oars with flowers, and the dark cloak of Consuelo was covered with their perfumed petals. She began to look into her own heart, and to combat the ineffable inffuence of passion and right. She had withdrawn her hand from Leverani, and her heart began to break as the veil or intoxication shrank before the light of reason and reflection.
"Hear you, madam," said Marcus, "do you not hear the applause of the audience? Yes; there are exclamations and clapping of hands. They are delighted: Anzoleto has been very successful at the palace."
"They know nothing about it," said Consuelo, taking a magnolia flower which Leverani had gathered in the passage, and thrown at her feet. She clasped this flower convulsively in her hands and hid it in her bosom, as the last relic of a passion about to be crushed or sanctified forever.