Agata--daughter!"
"Nay, heed him not, generous Violetta. He utters words of convention--he
speaks as all speak in age, when men's tongues deny the feelings of
their youth. He is a Carmelite, and must feign this prudence. He never
knew the tyranny of the passions. The dampness of his cell has chilled
the ardor of the heart. Had he been human, he would have loved; had he
loved, he would never have worn a cowl."
Father Anselmo receded a pace, like one pricked in conscience, and the
paleness of his ascetic features took a deadly hue. His lips moved as if
he would have spoken, but the sounds were smothered by an oppression
that denied him utterance. The gentle Florinda saw his distress, and she
endeavored to interpose between the impetuous youth and her charge.
"It may be as you say, Signor Monforte," she said--"and that the Senate,
in its fatherly care, searches a partner worthy of an heiress of a house
so illustrious and so endowed as that of Tiepolo. But in this, what is
there more than of wont? Do not the nobles of all Italy seek their
equals in condition and in the gifts of fortune, in order that their
union may be fittingly assorted. How know we that the estates of my
young friend have not a value in the eye of the Duke of St. Agata as
well as in those of him that the Senate may elect for thy husband?"
"Can this be true?" exclaimed Violetta.
"Believe it not; my errand in Venice is no secret.
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