"'You are,' said the Prince, 'like those beautiful tropical flowers, the source of the life of which is the sun, and which grow pale on their stems in our land. Neapolitans need Naples, the pure sky, the balmy air, the perfume of orange groves, and the reflection of the azure gulf. I am distressed, Duchess, at what you say, and hope you will content yourself with our country. We will not permit you to leave it.'
"'But I am dying,' said the Duchess, in a strange tone.
"'You are now alive, though,' said the Prince.
"The uneasy eyes of the Duchess passed around the room, and when she saw the Count, became strangely animated. 'Ah!' she remarked, 'here is Count Monte-Leone.' The Count advanced.
"'The Count,' said the Prince, 'is your compatriot, and one of your most fervent admirers.'
"'Do you think so?' said the Duchess, almost ironically.
"'One,' said the Prince, 'to be any thing else, must neither have seen nor heard your grace.'
"'Once, perhaps,' said she, 'I had some means of attraction, but now all is forgotten; for I am a Duchess like all others—less even, because I am indebted to chance for my rank and title.'
"'You owe thanks to yourself alone,' said the Prince, 'and the Duke was a lucky man to have it in his power to lay them at your feet.'
"'Madame,' said I to the Duchess, 'since you deign to remind us of your deathless talent, may I venture to ask you to sing once more?'