to hell, you know, and I am so afraid of hell that I resign myself to
live, to get up in the morning and go to bed at night, and work the
same hours, and do the same things. I am not so weary of it, but I
suffer--And yet, my father and mother adore me. Oh! I am bad, I am
bad; I say so to my confessor."

"Do you always live here alone, without amusement, without pleasures?"

"Oh! I have not always been like this. Till I was fifteen the
festivals of the church, the chants, the music gave me pleasure. I was
happy, feeling myself like the angels without sin and able to
communicate every week--I loved God then. But for the last three
years, from day to day, all things have changed. First, I wanted
flowers here--and I have them, lovely flowers! Then I wanted--but I
want nothing now," she added, after a pause, smiling at Montefiore.
"Have you not said that you would love me always?"

"Yes, my Juana," cried Montefiore, softly, taking her round the waist
and pressing her to his heart, "yes. But let me speak to you as you
speak to God. Are you not as beautiful as Mary in heaven? Listen. I
swear to you," he continued, kissing her hair, "I swear to take that
forehead for my altar, to make you my idol, to lay at your feet all
the luxuries of the world. For you, my palace at Milan; for you my
horses, my jewels, the diamonds of my ancient family; for you, each
day, fresh jewels, a thousand pleasures, and all the joys of earth!"

"Yes," she said reflectively, "I would like that; but I feel within my
soul that I would like better than all the world my husband. Mio caro
sposo!" she said, as if it were impossible to give in any other
language the infinite tenderness, the loving elegance with which the