I have spoken more under the influence of
recollections that came from days of idleness and levity, than with the
chastened spirit of one who should see the hand of the Maker in the most
simple and least lovely of all his wondrous works."
"You reproach yourself causelessly, holy father," observed the mild
Donna Florinda, raising her eyes towards the pale countenance of the
monk; "to admire the beauties of nature, is to worship Him who gave them
being."
At that moment a burst of music rose on the air, proceeding from the
water beneath the balcony. Donna Violetta started back, abashed; and as
she held her breath in wonder, and haply with that delight which open
admiration is apt to excite in a youthful female bosom, the color
mounted to her temples.
"There passeth a band," calmly observed the Donna Florinda.
"No, it is a cavalier! There are gondoliers, servitors in his colors."
"This is as hardy as it may be gallant," returned the monk, who
listened to the air with an evident and grave displeasure.
There was no longer any doubt but that a serenade was meant. Though the
custom was of much use, it was the first time that a similar honor had
been paid beneath the window of Donna Violetta. The studied privacy of
her life, her known destiny, and the jealousy of the despotic state, and
perhaps the deep respect which encircled a maiden of her tender years
and high condition, had, until that moment, kept the aspiring, the vain,
and the interested, equally in awe.
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