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something　maternal；　foreseeing；　and　complete　about　it。　But　when　the

words　of　hope　and　peace　are　said　with　grace　of　gesture　and　that

eloquence　of　tone　which　comes　from　the　heart；　and　when；　above　all；　the

benefactress　is　beautiful；　a　young　man　does　not　resist。　The　prisoner

breathed　in　love　through　all　his　senses。　A　rosy　tinge　colored　his

white　cheeks；　his　eyes　lost　something　of　the　sadness　that　dulled　them；

and　he　said；　in　a　peculiar　tone　of　voice：



〃You　are　an　angle　of　goodness　But　Labedoyere！〃　he　added。　〃Oh；

Labedoyere！〃



At　this　cry　they　all　three　looked　at　one　another　in　silence；　each

comprehending　the　others'　thoughts。　No　longer　friends　of　twenty

minutes　only；　they　were　friends　of　twenty　years。



〃Dear　friend；〃　said　Servin；　〃can　you　save　him？〃



〃I　can　avenge　him。〃



Ginevra　quivered。　Though　the　stranger　was　handsome；　his　appearance　had

not　influenced　her；　the　soft　pity　in　a　woman's　heart　for　miseries　that

are　not　ignoble　had　stifled　in　Ginevra　all　other　emotions；　but　to　hear

a　cry　of　vengeance；　to　find　in　that　proscribed　being　an　Italian　soul；

devotion　to　Napoleon；　Corsican　generosity！ah！　that　was；　indeed；　too

much　for　her。　She　looked　at　the　officer　with　a　respectful　emotion

which　shook　his　heart。　For　the　first　time　in　her　life　a　man　had　caused

her　a　keen　emotion。　She　now；　like　other　women；　put　the　soul　of　the

stranger　on　a　par　with　the　noble　beauty　of　his　features　and　the　happy

proportions　of　his　figure；　which　she　admired　as　an　artist。　Led　by

accidental　curiosity　to　pity；　from　pity　to　a　powerful　interest；　she

came；　through　that　interest；　to　such　profound　sensations　that　she　felt

she　was　in　danger　if　she　stayed　there　longer。



〃Until　to…morrow；　then；〃　she　said；　giving　the　officer　a　gentle　smile

by　way　of　a　parting　consolation。



Seeing　that　smile；　which　threw　a　new　light　on　Ginevra's　features；　the

stranger　forgot　all　else　for　an　instant。



〃To…morrow；〃　he　said；　sadly；　〃but　to…morrow；　Labedoyere〃



Ginevra　turned；　put　a　finger　on　her　lips；　and　looked　at　him；　as　if　to

say：　〃Be　calm；　be　prudent。〃



And　the　young　man　cried　out　in　his　own　language：



〃Ah！　Dio！　che　non　vorrei　vivere　dopo　averla　veduta？who　would　not

wish　to　live　after　seeing　her？〃



The　peculiar　accent　with　which　he　pronounced　the　words　made　Ginevra

quiver。



〃Are　you　Corsican？〃　she　cried；　returning　toward　him　with　a　beating

heart。



〃I　was　born　in　Corsica；〃　he　replied；　〃but　I　was　brought；　while　very

young；　to　Genoa；　and　as　soon　as　I　was　old　enough　for　military　service

I　enlisted。〃



The　beauty　of　the　young　man；　the　mighty　charm　lent　to　him　by　his

attachment　to　the　Emperor；　his　wound；　his　misfortunes；　his　danger；　all

disappeared　to　Ginevra's　mind；　or；　rather；　all　were　blended　in　one

sentiment；a　new　and　delightful　sentiment。　This　persecuted　man　was　a

child　of　Corsica；　he　spoke　its　cherished　language！　She　stood；　for　a

moment；　motionless；　held　by　a　magical　sensation；　before　her　eyes　was　a

living　picture；　to　which　all　human　sentiments；　united　by　chance；　gave

vivid　colors。　By　Servin's　invitation；　the　officer　had　seated　himself

on　a　divan；　and　the　painter；　after　removing　the　sling　which　supported

the　arm　of　his　guest；　was　undoing　the　bandages　in　order　to　dress　the

wound。　Ginevra　shuddered　when　she　saw　the　long；　broad　gash　made　by　the

blade　of　a　sabre　on　the　young　man's　forearm；　and　a　moan　escaped　her。

The　stranger　raised　his　head　and　smiled　to　her。　There　was　something

touching　which　went　to　the　soul；　in　the　care　with　which　Servin　lifted

the　lint　and　touched　the　lacerated　flesh；　while　the　face　of　the

wounded　man；　though　pale　and　sickly；　expressed；　as　he　looked　at　the

girl；　more　pleasure　than　suffering。　An　artist　would　have　admired；

involuntarily；　this　opposition　of　sentiments；　together　with　the

contrasts　produced　by　the　whiteness　of　the　linen　and　the　bared　arm　to

the　red　and　blue　uniform　of　the　officer。



At　this　moment　a　soft　half…light　pervaded　the　studio；　but　a　parting

ray　of　the　evening　sunlight　suddenly　illuminated　the　spot　where　the

soldier　sat；　so　that　his　noble；　blanched　face；　his　black　hair；　and　his

clothes　were　bathed　in　its　glow。　The　effect　was　simple　enough；　but　to

the　girl's　Italian　imagination　it　was　a　happy　omen。　The　stranger

seemed　to　her　a　celestial　messenger；　speaking　the　language　of　her　own

country。　He　thus　unconsciously　put　her　under　the　spell　of　childhood's

memories；　while　in　her　heart　there　dawned　another　feeling　as　fresh；　as

pure　as　her　own　innocence。　For　a　short；　very　short　moment；　she　was

motionless　and　dreamy；　as　though　she　were　plunged　in　boundless

thought。　Then　she　blushed　at　having　allowed　her　absorption　to　be

noticed；　exchanged　one　soft　and　rapid　glance　with　the　wounded　man；　and

fled　with　the　vision　of　him　still　before　her　eyes。



The　next　day　was　not　a　class…day；　but　Ginevra　came　to　the　studio；　and

the　prisoner　was　free　to　sit　beside　her　easel。　Servin；　who　had　a

sketch　to　finish；　played　the　part　of　mentor　to　the　two　young　people；

who　talked　to　each　other　chiefly　in　Corsican。　The　soldier　related　the

sufferings　of　the　retreat　from　Moscow；　for；　at　nineteen　years　of　age；

he　had　made　the　passage　of　the　Beresins；　and　was　almost　the　last　man

left　of　his　regiment。　He　described；　in　words　of　fire；　the　great

disaster　of　Waterloo。　His　voice　was　music　itself　to　the　Italian　girl。

Brought　up　as　a　Corsican；　Ginevra　was；　in　some　sense；　a　child　of

Nature；　falseness　was　a　thing　unknown　to　her；　she　gave　herself　up

without　reserve　to　her　impressions；　she　acknowledged　them；　or；　rather；

allowed　them　to　be　seen　without　the　affectations　of　petty　and

calculating　coquetry；　characteristic　of　Parisian　girlhood。　During　this

day　she　sat　more　than　once　with　her　palette　in　one　hand；　her　brushes

in　another；　without　touching　a　color。　With　her　eyes　fastened　on　the

officer；　and　her　lips　slightly　apart；　she　listened；　in　the　attitude　of

painting　a　stroke　which　was　never　painted。　She　was　not　surprised　to

see　such　softness　in　the　eyes　of　the　young　man；　for　she　felt　that　her

own　were　soft　in　spite　of　her　will　to　keep　them　stern　and　calm。　After

periods　like　this　she　painted　diligently；　without　raising　her　head；

for　he　was　there；　near　her；　watching　her　work。　The　first　time　he　sat

down　beside　her　to　contemplate　her　silently；　she　said；　in　a　voice　of

some　emotion；　after　a　long　pause：



〃Does　it　amuse　you　to　see　me　paint？〃



That　day　she　learned　that　his　name　was　Luigi。　Before　separating；　it

was　agreed　between　them　that　if；　on　class…days　when　they　could　not　see

each　other；　any　important　political　event　occurred；　Ginevra　was　to

inform　him　by　singing　certain　Corsican　melodies　then　agreed　upon。



The　following　day　Mademoiselle　Thirion　informed　all　the　members　of　the

class；　under　pledge　of　secrecy　that　Ginevra　di　Piombo　had　a　lover；　a

young　man　who　came　during　the　hours　for　the　lesson；　and　concealed

himself　in　the　garret　beyond　the　studio。



〃You；　who　take　her　part；〃　she　said　to　Mademoiselle　Roguin；　〃watch　her

carefully；　and　you　will　see　how　she　spends　her　time。〃



Ginevra　was；　therefore；　observed　with　diabolical　attention。　They

listened　to　her　songs；　they　watched　her　glances。　At　times；　when　she

supposed　that　no　one　saw　her；　a　dozen　pairs　of　eyes　were　furtively

upon　her。　Thus　enlightened；　the　girls　were　able　to　interpret　truly　the

emotions　that　crossed　the　features　of　the　beautiful　Italian；her

gestures；　the　peculiar　tones　in　which　she　hummed　a　tune；　and　the

attention　with　which　they　saw　her　listen　to　sounds　which　only　she

could　hear　through　the　partition。



By　the　end　of　a　week；　Laure　was　the　only　one　of　Servin's　fifteen

pupils　who　had　resisted　the　temptation　of　looking　at　Luigi　through　the

crevice　of　the　partition；　and　she；　through　an　instinct　of　weakness；

still　defended　her　beautiful　friend。　Mademoiselle　Roguin　endeavored　to

make　her　wait　on　the　staircase　after　the　class　dispersed；　that　she

might　prove　to　her　the　intimacy　of　Ginevra　and　the　young　man　by

entering　the　studio　and　surprising　them　together。　But　Laure　refused　to

condescend　to　an　act　of　espial　which　no　curiosity　could　justify；　and

she　consequently　became　the　object　of　much　reprobation。



Before　long　Mademoiselle　Thirion　made　known　that　she　thought　it

improper　to　attend　the　classes　of　a　painter　whose　opinions　were

tainted　with　patriotism　and　Bonapartism　（in　those　days　the　terms　were

synonymous）；　and　she　ceased　her　attendance　at　the　studio。　But；

although　she　herself　forgot　Ginevra；　the　harm　she　had　planted　bore

fruit。　Little　by　little；　the　other　young　girls　revealed　to　their

mothers　the　strange　events　which　were　happening　at　the　studio。　One　day

Matilde　Roguin　did　not　come；　the　next　day　another　girl　was　missing；

and　so　on；　till　the　last　three　or　four　who　were　left　came　no　more。

Ginevra　and　Laure；　her　little　friend；　were　the　sole　occupants　of　the

deserted　studio　for　three　or　four　days。



Ginevra　did　not　observe　this　falling　off；　nor　ask　the　cause　of　her

companions'　absence。　As　soon　as　she　had　invented　means　of

communication　with　Luigi　she　lived　in　the　studio　in　a　delightful

solitude；　alone　amid　her　own　world；　thinking　only　of　the　officer　and

the　dangers　that　threatened　him。　Though　a　sincere　admirer　of　noble

characters　that　never　betray　their　political　faiths；　she　nevertheless

urged　Luigi　to　submit　himself　to　the　royal　authority；　that　he　might　be

released　from　his　present　life　and　remain　in　France。　But　to　this　he

would　not　consent。　If　passions　are　born　and　nourished；　as　they　say；

under　the　influence　of　romantic　causes；　never　did　so　many

circumstances　of　that　kind　concur　in　uniting　two　young　souls　by　one

and　the　same　sentiment。　The　friendship　of　Ginevra　for　Luigi　and　that

of　Luigi　for　Ginevra　made　more　progress　in　a　month　than　a　friendship

in　society　would　make　in　ten　years。　Adversity　is　the　touchstone　of

character。　Ginevra　was　able；　therefore；　to　study　Luigi；　to　know　him；

and　before　long　they　mutually　esteemed　each　other。　The　girl；　who　was