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 “I swear it, by your beauteous eyes!” replied the love-intoxicated young man, seizing her delicate hand, and pressing it to his glowing lips.

After dinner, he was summoned by a senatorial messenger to attend the Doge in the evening, for the purpose of receiving his despatches. He punctually obeyed the order: but some delay took place. While he was pacing the anteroom to and fro, and admiring the master-pieces of art with which it was adorned, a man of gloomy aspect, and from his dress a nobile, was introduced, and desired to wait in the same room, till the Doge, who was engaged, had leisure to speak to him. A conversation soon commenced between Camillo and the stranger; and it naturally turned upon the event which then agitated all Europe, and particularly concerned the Venetians—the battle of Pavia. The nobile, who, as he said, had also to deplore the loss of two sons, threw, with undisguised resentment, the whole blame of this catastrophe on Count Frangipani, who, contrary to the opinion of the Duke of Urbino and all the experienced captains, and supported only by Bonniveau, the worst of the French generals, had encouraged the king’s romantic notions of honour and desire to fight against his own conviction. “But to be sure,” continued he, “the traitor well knew what he was about. Before he could rule, it was absolutely necessary that all