“Ginevra mia!” said he, “in truth, you are right. The life we now lead must suit you, for you grow lovelier every day.”
“Our life does not suit you less than it does me, Lorenzo,” said I. “We are both in our element now. God be blessed! His goodness to us has indeed been great!”
“Yes,” said he with sudden gravity, “greater a thousand times than I had any right to expect. I am really too happy!”
This time I only laughed at his observation, and tried to divert his mind from the remembrances awakened.
“Where are your letters from?”
He tore one open, and his face brightened.
“That looks well! Nothing could suit me better. Here is an American who wishes a repetition of my Sappho, and gives me another order of importance. And then what? He wishes to purchase the lovely Vestal he saw in my studio. Oh! as for that, par exemple, no!… The Vestal is mine, mine alone. No one else shall ever have it. But no matter, Ginevra; if things go on in this way, I shall soon be swimming in money, and then look out for the diamonds!”
He knew now, as well as I, what I thought of such things. He laughed, and then continued to read his letters.
“This is from Lando. It is addressed to us both.”
He glanced over it: