Teresa, delighted at any excursion, readily consented.

"And I too, mamma," cried the child; "and my little sister?"

"Oh, certainly," said Maltravers, speaking for the parents.

So the party was soon ready, and they pushed off in the clear genial
noontide (for November in Italy is as early as September in the North)
across the sparkling and dimpled waters. The children prattled, and the
grown-up people talked on a thousand matters. It was a pleasant day,
that last day at Como! For the farewells of friendship have indeed
something of the melancholy, but not the anguish, of those of love.
Perhaps it would be better if we could get rid of love altogether. Life
would go on smoother and happier without it. Friendship is the wine of
existence, but love is the dram-drinking.

When they returned, they found Castruccio seated on the lawn. He did
not appear so much dejected at the prospect of Ernest's departure as
Teresa had anticipated; for Castruccio Cesarini was a very jealous man,
and he had lately been chagrined and discontented with seeing the
delight that the De Montaignes took in Ernest's society.

"Why is this?" he often asked himself; "why are they more pleased with
this stranger's society than mine? My ideas are as fresh, as original;
I have as much genius, yet even my dry brother-in-law allows /his/
talents, and predicts that/he/ will be an eminent man! while
/I/--No!--one is not a prophet in one's own country!"

Unhappy man! his mind bore all the rank weeds of the morbid poetical
character, and the weeds choked up the flowers that the soil, properly