"Madam, my mother, you have from this day one other son: this, my mother, is my brother."
The countess literally fell on my neck, and kissed me in the sight of them all; and speaking in Italian said—
"Julian, he is my son; he has saved my life; and more, he has saved your life. My son, I will not say much; what is your name?"
"Guy Westwood."
"Guy, my child, my son, I am your mother; you shall love me."
"Yes, my mother; he is my brother, I am his. He is English too; I like English. He has done well. Blanche shall be his sister."
During the whole of this time both mother and son were embracing me and kissing my cheeks, after the impulsive manner of their passionate natures, the indulgence of which appears so strange to our cold blood.
The train was delayed, for my wounds and bruises to be dressed, and I then entered their carriage and went to Leghorn with them.
Arrived there, I was about to say "Farewell."
"What is farewell, now? No; you must see Blanche, your sister. You will sleep to my hotel: I shall not let you go. Who is she that in your great book says, 'Where you go, I will go?' That is my spirit. You must not leave me till—till you are as happy as I am."