"An officer of the Bersaglieri; but I escaped him in the forest. Oh, my father! my father! and a Bersagliere is here before me!"
"Raphael Velda, your betrothed!" said the young man, taking off his plumed hat, and coming forward from the shade which had partly concealed him.
Uttering a soft exclamation of joy, mingled with astonishment, the girl rushed into his arms, and he covered her face with kisses, showering them on her brow, her lips and eyes, even on her neck, where hung her only ornament, a little crucifix of brass.
"Ne sono estatico! (I am in ecstasies!)" the young soldier continued to murmur, as he gazed upon the upturned face that lay upon his fringe epaulette, and so near his own flushed cheek.
"Oh, what happiness!" responded the girl. "I am beside myself with joy! Raphael, Raphael, speak to me!"
"Thou art loved by every one, my child," said the old brigand, who made no attempt to check the free emotions of the lovers, but turned away sadly, and leaned upon his long musket.
"Oh, Francesca, many may—nay, must have loved you; but none as poor Raphael Velda does," said the lover.
"If ever we are parted, judging by what I have suffered already, the wrench will be terrible! Francesca will die!" murmured the girl.
"No female society ever afforded me the delight that yours does, and were we to be together for days and days, instead of a few short stolen hours, I would never weary of looking into your sweet eyes. How often in camp and on the march, when weary and listless, I have longed for your beloved shoulder to lay my head upon and go to sleep, though I fear your presence would put all sleep to flight."
"Oh, Raphael, when absent from you I seem only to endure existence. All time seems lost that is not spent with you."