I shall make of them a
funeral crown. Here, take these leaves, and reach me the palette. You
have positively learned nothing all the time you have been seeing me
make flowers.'
A servant entered the room, saying, 'There is no post to Venice
either to-day or to-morrow: the Signor Edoardo cannot set out before
Friday.'
'Friday!' exclaimed Sophia, 'vile day!' and with a clouded
countenance she silently resumed her self-imposed task. Edoardo, on
the contrary, seemed glad of the delay.
'No matter; but,' he added, 'is not this a trick of yours--a plot
concocted by you and Luigia to prevent me from leaving Padua?'
'You mistake, Edoardo; I would wish rather to hasten your departure.'
'I am very much obliged to you,' replied Edoardo, half vexed. 'What
do you mean? If you do not explain your words I shall be very angry.'
'The explanation--the explanation, Edoardo, is here in my head, but
not in my heart. The explanation, Edoardo, is that I love you too
much, and I am not pleased with myself.
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