love, attracted the notice of the other domestics of the household, they
especially struck with wonder a nurse of mine, old in years and
experienced, and of sound judgment, who, though well aware of the flames
that tortured my breast, yet making show of not knowing thereof,
frequently chided me for my altered manners. One day in particular,
finding me lying disconsolate on my couch, seeing that my brow was
charged with doleful thoughts, and believing that we were not likely to
be interrupted by other company, she began to speak as follows:

"My dearest daughter, whom I love as my very self, tell me, I pray you,
what are the sorrows that have for some time past been harassing you?
You who were wont to be so gay formerly, you whom I have never seen
before with a mournful countenance, seem to me now to be the prey of
grief and to let no moment pass without a sigh."

Then, having at first feigned to be asleep and not to have heard her, I
heaved a deep sigh, and, my face, at one time flushing, at another
turning pale, I tossed about on the couch, seeking what answer I should
make, though, indeed, in my agitation, my tongue could hardly shape a
perfect sentence. But, at length, I answered:

"Indeed, dear nurse, no fresh sorrows harass me; nor do I feel that I am
in any way different from what I am wont to be. Perhaps some troubles I
may have, but they are such as are incidental to all women."

"Most certainly, you are trying to deceive me, my child," returned the
aged nurse, "and you seem not to reflect how serious a matter it is to
attempt to lead persons of experience to believe one thing because it is
couched in words and to disbelieve the opposite, although it is made
plainly evident by deeds. There is no reason why you should hide from me