“Well!”
“It is you!”
“It is me. Your model—your Laurette! Ungrateful man! you had then forgotten me!”
“Can I believe it? the daughter of poor Guanetto?”
“Yes, she, who for a morsel of bread came to stand in your studio as a model, at Venice, is now the Sovereign of Ferrara. But the most surprising part of the event is, that her old lord and master persisted in his forgetfulness, and refused to recognise the Duchess of Ferrara till she had again descended to her humble capacity of a model.”
“I thought, indeed, those features were not unknown to me.”
“Well, this is something.—However, I forgive you. Twelve years have elapsed, and I must be much altered.”
“And how did you attain your present position?”
“As the wife of Don Alphonso? Simply thus. He saw me, loved me, and married me—nothing more natural.”
“Yes, he loves you, I have the proof of this.”