I shall have consulted, and kissed it a thousand times, till
that day in which I shall be yours! Do you hear that word, Edoardo?
Yours--yours for ever! never more to leave you!--to be divided from
you only by death!'
'That will indeed be a blessed day--the loveliest day of our life!
The desire of devoting all the powers of my mind to your happiness
will then become a right. Poor Sophia, you know not yet what
happiness is: so young, so good; you have hitherto met with thorns
only in your path. Poor Sophia, I desire no other glory in this world
than that of being able to make you feel the sweet that Providence in
pity mingles with the bitter of human existence. There is no
sweetness in the life of mortals that is not the offspring of love.'
'Yes,' added Sophia, 'when love is united with constancy. But what
are you daubing at, Edoardo? You are actually putting red on orange
leaves. Where have you learned botany? And what does that rose
signify? Is not this a bride's wreath, and are not bridal wreaths
always made of orange flowers? Do you know what I mean to do with
those roses? Ah, you would never guess.
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