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Angiola had beheld me two or three times in a downright passion; once, as I have stated, on account of her having brought me bad coffee, and a second time as follows: Every two or three weeks the jailer had brought me a letter from some of my family.
Such suspicions tormented and degraded me. I did not entertain them as regarded Angiola a single moment. Yet, from what Tremerello had said, a kind of doubt clung to me as to the conduct of those who had permitted her to come into my apartment. Had they, either from their own zeal, or by superior authority, given her the office of spy? in that case, how ill had she discharged such an office!
The very word itself, which comes so naturally to my lips, tells me, like a knell in my heart, that it can never be!" "But, Paolina, angiola mia," said Ludovico, who had heard her with a look of consternation, "what has thus changed you? For it is a change. You knew all these things before. What has occurred to put such notions into your mind all of a sudden?" "Not all of a sudden, Ludovico!
I left no means untried to obtain her confidence, but it was the first time I was quite unable to ascertain why she distressed herself to such an excess. "I will return tomorrow morning," she said, one evening on parting from me; "I will, indeed." But the next morning came, and my coffee was brought by her mother; the next, and the next, by the under-jailers; and Angiola continued grievously ill.
However this may be, the names of Maria Angiola were precisely those of my younger sister, and doubtless they must have been copied from the Turin Gazette into other papers. Had that excellent girl, then, really become a nun? Had she taken this step in consequence of the loss of her parents?
His fine woven house, and his gnat-feasts will all be put an end to." Again, my gloomy abode had been embellished by the presence of Angiola, so good, so gentle and compassionate.
I heard the far off voices of men and women calling to each other. Among others, I caught the name of Angiola, and of this doubtless there are some thousands in Venice: yet I could not help fearing it might be the one of whom the recollection was so sweet to me. Could it be her? was she surrounded by the flames? how I longed to fly to her rescue.
Tremerello had insinuated a vile suspicion respecting Angiola; that, in short, she was a spy upon my secret opinions! She! that noble- hearted creature, who knew nothing of politics, and wished to know nothing of them! It was impossible for me to suspect her; but have I, said I, the same certainty respecting Tremerello?
At Munich she made a good impression by her pictures exhibited in 1893 and 1895; at the Exposition in Paris, 1889, her portrait and a study in pastel were much admired and were generously praised in the art journals. *<b>COX, LOUISE.</b> The picture by Mrs. Cox, reproduced in this book, illustrates two lines in a poem by Austin Dobson, called "A Song of Angiola in Heaven."
I should be trying to impose on myself, were I to attribute to my own prudence the fact of my not having fallen in love with Angiola. I did not do so, simply from the circumstance of her having already a lover of her own choosing, to whom she was desperately, unalterably attached.
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