How many times did she put the cherished wreath
on her head, consult her mirror, study every position in which those
flowers might appear to better advantage and increase her beauty! How
often did she open the box that contained it to kiss it, to look at
it, scarcely daring to touch it for fear of spoiling a leaf, of
disarranging a fibre!
At length came the answer to her letter; an answer that to any other
person might have seemed constrained, cold, terrible; but it was, on
the contrary, to Sophia the seal of her felicity. She was only
afflicted that Edoardo should have made illness an apology, which he
said prevented him from coming immediately to Padua. To Sophia it was
as clear as the sun that expressions of affection did not abound,
because they had now at command what she and Edoardo had so long
hoped and looked for; that the letter did not dwell on particulars,
precisely because great joy is not talkative, and because the illness
of Edoardo prevented it. She made ready to set out to Venice without
delay, expecting that her father would join her there, and that the
nuptials would be celebrated in that city when the health of Edoardo
would permit.
Pages:
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269