"Taddeo," said a voice musical as the song of the angels, "you suffer."
"Yes," said the young man.
"I see you do. Can friendship do nothing to soothe you?"
"Nothing!"
"Thus it is with men," said La Felina; "they think of us in their pleasure and happiness, but never in their sorrow."
Taddeo looked towards the Duchess, whose features expressed so much sympathy and devotion that he felt his heart give way, and he was about to give vent to his secret—an innate and noble sentiment of generosity restrained him. It seemed to him that La Felina might fancy he took a base revenge, should he dishonor one she had loved so passionately, and, perhaps, was yet devoted to.
"Signor Rovero," said the ambassadress, after a long silence, "since you think me unworthy to share your secret, let us have done with it. Skilful physicians lull pains they cannot soothe. Let me then do as they do, and divert your mind from such bitter thoughts to present it a more pleasant prospect—that of your sister's happiness."
"What say you?" asked Taddeo, as if he were aroused from a dream.
"You understand me certainly—the approaching marriage of your sister with Count Monte-Leone is everywhere understood to be a fact."
"Never!" said Taddeo, losing his sang-froid.