"O God!" cried Cesarini, stung with remorse. "Speak to me, speak to
me, Florence! I did wrong; forget that hateful letter! I have been
false--false!"

"Ah, false--say so again--no, no, I remember he told me--he, so wise, so
deep a judge of human character, that he would be sponsor for your
faith--, that your honour and heart were incorruptible. It is true; I
thank you--you have saved me from a terrible fate."

"O, Lady Florence, dear--too dear--yet, would that--alas! she does not
listen to me," muttered Castruccio, as Florence, pressing her hands to
her temples, walked wildly to and fro the room. At length she paused
opposite to Cesarini, looked him full in the face, returned him the
letter without a word, and pointed to the door.

"No, no, do not bid me leave you yet," said Cesarini, trembling with
repentant emotion, yet half beside himself with jealous rage at her love
for his rival.

"My friend, go," said Florence, in a tone of voice singularly subdued
and soft. "Do not fear me; I have more pride in me than even affection;
but there are certain struggles in a woman's breast which she could
never betray to any one--any one but a mother. God help me, I have
none! Go; when next we meet, I shall be calm."

She held out her hand as she spoke, the Italian dropped on his knee,
kissed it convulsively, and, fearful of trusting himself further,
vanished from the room.