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Updated: June 23, 2025
The few words Orsino had exchanged with Maria Consuelo on the morning of the great ceremony recalled vividly the pleasant hour he had spent with her ten days earlier, and he determined to see her as soon as possible.
He tossed it aside without looking at it, but it chanced to slip from the polished table and fall to the ground. As he picked it up his attention was arrested by the handwriting and by the stamp. The stamp was Egyptian and the writing was that of Maria Consuelo. He started, tore open the envelope and took out a letter of many pages, written on thin paper.
"It was his wife's ticket, I believe," said Maria Consuelo. "She could not come. I am here on false pretences." She smiled carelessly. Donna Tullia lost herself in speculation, but failed to solve the problem. "You have chosen a most favourable moment for your first visit to Rome," she remarked at last. "Yes. I am always fortunate.
"Because you are the first to misunderstand. You cannot help it. I do not blame you." "If you would let me be your friend, as you call me, it would be better for us both." He spoke as he had assuredly not meant to speak when he had entered the room, and with a feeling that surprised himself far more than his hearer. Maria Consuelo turned sharply upon him.
I retain a very vivid picture of that walk the ascent of a gentle slope towards a prospect as yet unknown but full of glorious possibilities; the tender dropping light of an autumn sky, slightly filmed with the promise of the future rains, like foreshadowed tears, and the half-frightened, half-serious talk into which Consuelo and I had insensibly fallen.
I looked again it was the blessed Enriquez! A sense of deep relief came over me. I loved Consuelo; but never before had lover ever hailed the irruption of one of his beloved's family with such complacency. "You are safe, dearest; it is Enriquez!" I thought she received the information coldly. Suddenly she turned upon me her eyes, now bright and glittering.
"You, the blackest of the Black, are to be numbered henceforth with the acquaintances of Count Del Ferice and Donna Tullia." "What difference does it make? Besides, I could not have done otherwise." "You might have refused the dinner." "I could not possibly have done that. To accept was the only way out of a great difficulty." "What difficulty?" asked Maria Consuelo relentlessly.
"Plan, or the want of it," she acknowledges, with a sort of complacency, "has always been my weak point." Thus whilst in many of her compositions, especially the shorter novels, the construction leaves little to be desired, Consuelo is only one among many instances in which all ordinary rules of symmetry and proportion are set at naught.
Do you mean to say that a young girl you were nothing more has a right to throw away her life out of sentiment by making a promise of that kind? And to whom? To a man who is not her husband, and never can be, because he is dying. To a man just not indifferent to her, to a man " Maria Consuelo raised herself and looked full at Orsino.
I have no doubt that the essence of all good things which are said, I shall gather from you some day, somehow. I send my subscription to the Harbinger. Almira is well, and would send you love and flowers if she knew that Mr. Hosmer was going. I am fairly launched in "Consuelo," which I must read as fast as I can, for Mr. Hedge is to take it to Maine.
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