"It is no better than an acknowledgment of the impossibility to sing of
her. Thus----" And striking a chord or two, he began, a mezza voce:

"Quando sorriderán' in ciel
Gli occhi tuoi ai santi--"

She laid a hand upon his arm to stay him.

"Not now, Gonzaga," she begged, "I am in no humour for your song, sweet
though I doubt not that it be."

A shade of disappointment and ruffled vanity crossed his face. Women had
been wont to listen greedily to his strambotti, enthralled by the cunning
of the words and the seductive sweetness of his voice.

"Ah, never look so glum," she cried, smiling now at his crestfallen air.
"If I have not hearkened now, I will again. Forgive me, good Gonzaga,"
she begged him, with a sweetness no man could have resisted. And then a
sigh fluttered from her lips; a sound that was like a sob came after it,
and her hand closed upon his arm.

"They are breaking my heart, my friend. Oh, that you had left me at
peace in the Convent of Santa Sofia!"

He turned to her, all solicitude and gentleness, to inquire the reason of
her outburst.

"It is this odious alliance into which they seek to force me with that
man from Babbiano. I have told Guidobaldo that I will not wed this Duke.
But as profitably might I tell Fate that I will not die. The one is as