"The heat of the Spanish climate made him conclude that the Spanish temperament was also ardent, and consequently whimsical in its tastes."
"Poets are a kind of madmen who allow themselves to give utterance to all their fancies."
The reading was continued, and I thought my time had come when she read the verses:
Io senza scale in su la rooca salto,
E to stendardo piantovi di botto,
E la nemica mia mi caccio sotto**
**I scaled the rock without a ladder, I planted my standard suddenly, and held my enemy beneath me.
I wanted to give her a practical illustration of the lines, but with that sensibility so natural to women, and which they can use so well as a goad to passion, she said,—
"Dearest, you might make yourself worse; let us wait till your sprain is cured."
"Are we to wait till I am cured for the consummation of our marriage?"
"I suppose so, for if I am not mistaken the thing can't be done without a certain movement."
"You are wrong, dear Pauline, but it would make no difference to me even if it were so. You may be sure I would not put it off till to-morrow, even if it cost me my leg. Besides, you shall see that there are ways and means of satisfying our passions without doing me any harm. Is that enough for you?"