least sufficiently to secure the possibility of carrying on some
correspondence. I promised to do so, and as a mark of her gratitude she
took my hand to carry it to her lips, but quickly withdrawing it I tried
to kiss her; she turned her face away, blushing deeply. I was much
pleased with her modesty.

Barbara having succeeded in gaining the new servant over, I had nothing
more to do with the intrigue, and I was very glad of it, for I knew my
interference might have brought evil on my own head. Unfortunately, it
was already too late.

I seldom visited Don Gaspar; the study of the French language took up all
my mornings, and it was only in the morning that I could see him; but I
called every evening upon Father Georgi, and, although I went to him only
as one of his 'proteges', it gave me some reputation. I seldom spoke
before his guests, yet I never felt weary, for in his circle his friends
would criticise without slandering, discuss politics without
stubbornness, literature without passion, and I profited by all. After my
visit to the sagacious monk, I used to attend the assembly of the
cardinal, my master, as a matter of duty. Almost every evening, when she
happened to see me at her card-table, the beautiful marchioness would
address to me a few gracious words in French, and I always answered in
Italian, not caring to make her laugh before so many persons. My feelings
for her were of a singular kind. I must leave them to the analysis of the
reader. I thought that woman charming, yet I avoided her; it was not
because I was afraid of falling in love with her; I loved Lucrezia, and I
firmly believed that such an affection was a shield against any other
attachment, but it was because I feared that she might love me or have a
passing fancy for me. Was it self-conceit or modesty, vice or virtue?
Perhaps neither one nor the other.