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Updated: June 19, 2025
He sat there about half an hour thus quietly reading, scarcely hearing the loud voices and louder laughter of the men who came and went around him, when suddenly the name "Sylvie Hermenstein" caught his ear. It was spoken carelessly and accompanied with a laugh.
Sometimes I think I shall have to give up and gallop off the hunting-field altogether " "Excuse me, Marquis," said Angela coldly, "Sylvie Hermenstein is my friend pray understand that I cannot allow her to be spoken of in the tone of badinage you are pleased to assume." He looked up with a curious air of surprise and mock penitence. "Pardon!
Sylvie Hermenstein was richer far than he, she had not only wealth and a great position, but the joys of a natural existence, and of a perfect home-life were not denied to her. Presently, seeing that they were approaching the gates of exit from the Pamphili, he said, "Contessa, will you give me the favour of an hour's conversation with you one afternoon this week?
And so in Angela's beautiful studio, among the whiteness of classic marbles, and the soft hues of richly falling draperies, fair faces shone out like flowers, lit up by eyes, whose light seemed to be vividly kindled by the heat of an amorous southern sun, Venetian eyes blue as a cornflower, Florentine eyes brown and brilliant as a russet leaf in autumn, Roman eyes black as night, Sicilian eyes of all hues, full of laughter and flame and yet among all, no sweeter or more penetratingly tender eyes than those of Sylvie Hermenstein ever shot glances abroad to bewilder and dazzle the heart of man.
"I think not," and Fontenelle smiled. "Comme il vous plaira! I will tell Sylvie." "The Comtesse Hermenstein is not in Paris." "No!" and the Princesse laughed mischievously, "She is in Rome! She must have arrived there this morning. Au revoir, Marquis!" Another dazzling smile, and she was gone. Fontenelle stood staring after her in amazement. Sylvie was in Rome then?
I know that the former Counts Hermenstein were faithful servants of the Church. But they were all merely half-educated soldiers; brave, yet superstitious. I know also that my father, the late Count, was apparently equally loyal to the Church, though really only so because it was too much trouble for him to think seriously about anything save hunting.
He loved Sylvie Hermenstein, and admitted his passion for her frankly to his own soul, but at the same time felt that a union with her would be impossible. He had seen her nearly every day since their first introduction to each other, and had realised to the height of soul-intoxication the subtle charm of her delicate beauty, and the sweetness of her disposition.
As in a dream he heard her name, "The Comtesse Sylvie Hermenstein" and his own, "Mr.
Another moment, and a young officer in the Italian uniform entered hurriedly, his face was very pale, and as the Comtesse Hermenstein received him in her own serene sweet manner which, for all its high- bred air had something wonderfully winning and childlike about it, his self-control gave way, and when after a profound salute he raised his eyes, she saw they were full of tears.
Of course spiteful people will say she ceased to be Countess Hermenstein in order not to be recognized too soon as the 'renegade from the Roman Church, but that sort of thing is to be expected. Society never gives you credit for honest motives, but only for dishonest ones.
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