"Only the north knows this homelike comfort," said Blanden, "the Laplander in his smoky hut, the dweller in Kamskatka who has unharnessed his dogs, feel it more than the happy children of the south, who wander beneath palms."
"And more perhaps than we," added Giulia, "because as the crackling coals upon the hearth, so do fading dreams stir in our souls, and often burst once more into flames; of what use is this room's repose, if that in our hearts be wanting?"
"That repose is best found in genial companionship; words have not yet lost the spell of their magic power; familiar communication from lip to lip can absolve us, it is the secret of the confessional."
Giulia felt the truth of these words in her inmost heart; how everything within her urged her to such absolution, and yet--it could not be, 'twas vain!
Convulsive sobs overcame her, and Blanden was amazed at the intensity of the emotions which his passing remark had roused. How light her heart would have been if she could have imparted to her friend all that engrossed and tortured her day and night!
Yes, if he had only been a friend! But he should be more, be everything to her, and one candid word could destroy her whole future. Perhaps she might still succeed in breaking the evil magic to which she had succumbed. Thus silence must be maintained.
Together they read the recollections of Silvio Pellico; a deep impression was made upon them by the picture of an artist in chains and fetters--oh, those were not the worst which hung from the iron ring of a prison wall.
She displayed the greatest sympathy; to her it was as if the damp air wafted through the casemates of the Spielberg filled her life, too, with the same mouldy breath.
She spoke of the castle of Chillon; that little spot had filled her with intense sadness. There were plenty of dungeon towers for salamanders and frogs, but this tomb of freedom made such a deeply melancholy impression, surrounded as it is by the waves of a beautiful lake, and granting a view of the peaks, high as heaven, of the Savoy alps, which rise in the air like a fortress of liberty. It is this contrast that makes such a painful impression, and as if called forth by deepest emotions, she uttered the beautiful verse out of the "Ruins" by Anastatius Grün--
"Oh, shade of my freedom fly not so fast,