“La confidence ingénu rapproche deux amis.”
Her eyes, half raised to mine, suddenly cast down, beamed a tender acquiescence to the sentiment.
“But,” said I, “if the being worthy of sharing the bliss such an intercourse in such a place must confer, is yet to be found, is its hallowed circle inviolable to the intrusive footstep of an inferior, though perhaps not less ardent votarist?”
“Since you have been here,” said she, “I have scarcely ever visited this once favourite retreat myself.”
“Am I to take that as a compliment or otherwise?” said I.
“Just as it is meant,” said she—“as a fact;” and she added, with an inadvertent simplicity, into which the ardour of her temper often betrays her—“I never can devote myself partially to anything—I am either all enthusiasm or all indifference.”
Not for the world would I have made her feel the full force of this avowal; but requested permission to visit this now deserted boudoir.
“Certainly,” she replied—“it is a little closet in that ruined tower, which terminates the corridor in which your apartment lies.”
“Then, I am privileged?” said I.
“Undoubtedly,” she returned; and the Prince who had risen unusually early, entered the room at that moment, and joined us at the drawing-desk.