Page:Musset - Gamiani, or Two Passionate Nights.djvu/59



Oh, no, no! it is not I…

Listen, you will perhaps pity me, or at least excuse me, if I tell you my true story...

I was brought up in Italy by my aunt who was left a widow when still quite young. When I had reached my fifteenth year, I was awfully ignorant and knew nothing of the world around me except the terrors of our religion.

Entirely devoted to God, I spent my time praying Heaven to spare me the tortures of Hell.

My aunt encouraged these fears without ever soothing them by the least show of kindness towards me...

The only peaceful moments I found were those of the night, when I could sleep. My days were as miserable as those of one condemned to death.

Only rarely did my aunt allow me to visit her in the early morning in her bedroom. Then she took me into bed with her. She drew me to her bosom, she made me lie between her thighs, and suddenly, I remember, used to press me convulsively to her, to throw her limbs around me, her