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306 are still in a state of excitement, the tones of the music, or yet more musical words, still floating in your ear; your own light replies yet living on the memory, and the fancy animated by their vivid recollection.

In such a mood the Comtesse de Soissons drew towards her the fragrant scrolls on which she intended to record a thousand graceful flatteries, all to forward the same object—her own interest. "Nay!" exclaimed she, flinging down the pen, "that seems scarcely earnest enough! Praise should be given unguardedly and eagerly—rather as it were a relief to express one's feeling—"

The sentence died unfinished on her lips. She started from her seat, for, directly opposite to her stood Guido da Carrara, pale, sad, but with his large dark eyes fixed upon her, with that deep expression of tenderness, once so familiar to her sight, but now wild and melancholy—ay, and something fearful, in their gaze. Marie's cheek blanched as she looked upon him. She strove to scream, but in vain; all her former love—the only real feeling which she had ever known—beat passionately within her heart; a gush of unutterable tenderness, strangely mixed with vague terror, arose upon her mind. Still he stood, pale, sorrowful, and motionless, while Marie found