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Lucia’s was as cold as snow, on the contrary; yet it required no second glance to perceive that the coldness was but the cover superinduced to hide passions too warm for revelation. Her eye was downcast; yet did its stolen glances speak things, the secret consciousness of which would have debased the other in her own estimation beyond the hope of pardon.
The evening had worn on to a late hour, and darkness had already fallen over the earth, when Paullus issued stealthily, like a guilty thing, from Lucia’s chamber.
You have but a young head, though a stout one. Curius and I are old veterans of the camp, old revellers, and love the wine cup better than the bright eyes of beauty, or the minstrel’s lute. Thou, I will swear it, wouldst rather now be listening to Lucia’s lyre, and may be fingering it thyself, than drinking with us roisterers! Come, never blush, boy, we were all young once! Confess, if I am right!
"And a son’s life to every father!" said Catiline with a fierce sneer. "I had a son once, I remember. You wished to enter an empty house on the day of your marriage feast. I do not think you found him in your way! Besides, for honor—if I read Lucia’s eyes rightly, there is not much of that to emperil."
He told her of Lucia’s visit to his house; how she released him from his fatal oath! disclaimed all right to his affection, nay! to his respect, even, and esteem! encouraged him to hold honour in his eye, and in the scorn of consequence to follow virtue for its own sake!
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