CHAPTER CLXIV.
LAURA’S AMOUR.
Seating herself upon the sofa, Laura motioned the Italian to place himself by her side—an invitation which he obeyed with a species of enthusiastic alacrity. But all the time he was unable to take his eyes off her—as if he still doubted whether it were indeed a fact that his good fortune had conducted him into the presence of her whose image had never once been absent from his mind since he first beheld her that afternoon in the Champs Elysées.
“Is it possible?” he again ejaculated, after a few minutes’ silence. “The young woman promised me that if I were discreet, I might expect the happiness of meeting you—yes, you, sweetest lady—again: but I confess that I doubted her—and I came that I might not throw away a chance of felicity, rather than in the sanguine hope of attaining it.”
“And, when you have leisure for reflection” said Laura, casting down her eyes and blushing, “you will despise me for my imprudence—my indelicacy of conduct in thus sending to invite a stranger to visit me.”
“Adorable woman!” exclaimed the impassioned Italian; “I shall think of you with gratitude—with devotion—with love,—and never lightly. Oh! be assured of that!”—and, seizing her hand, he conveyed it to his lips, and covered it with kisses.
“Nevertheless, you must be surprised at my boldness in directing my servant to seek you, and to make this appointment with you,” pursued Laura, her bosom heaving so as almost to burst from its confinement, as she felt the warm mouth of the Castelcicalan glued to the hand which she did not attempt to withdraw.
“I am only surprised at my own happiness,” observed the young officer. “Sweetest Laura—for I now know your name—tell me how I have thus been deemed worthy of a favour of which a prince might envy me the enjoyment!”
“An accident threw us together for a few minutes this afternoon,” said Laura; “and I was struck by your personal appearance—your manners—your conversation——”
“And, oh! how profoundly was I impressed by the magic of your beauty, Laura!” interrupted the ardent Italian; “how earnestly I longed to hear once more the music of that melodious voice—to look again into the depths of those magnificent eyes—to contemplate that glorious countenance—that admirable form;—and now—oh! now the desire is realised—and no human language has words powerful enough to convey to you an idea of the happiness which I experience at this moment!”
As he thus spoke he threw his arms around her waist, and drew her towards him.