"Dear Aminta," said the Count, with a delight he could not repress, "it would be terrible to die now."
Scorpione drew near the Count, and looked at him with a strange expression. One might have fancied that like the idiots of northern lands, who, we are assured, have a strange prescience of the future, this poor being was seized on by an unfortunate presentiment.
The words she had heard echoed sadly in Aminta's heart. "My friend," said she "for some time I have seen that you suffered. You are no longer happy in my presence. For pity's sake conceal nothing from me. Something terrible and unknown exists in your heart. To whom else but me would you confide it? Who would you permit to share my torments? Who should suffer with you? Tell me, I beseech you, for doubt is worse even than misery."
The Count felt his very soul expand as he heard this expression of Aminta's interest. He was about to speak to her. Could he, however, reveal to a young and tender woman the fate which menaced him--the duel which as was said was to be merciless? Could he tell her of the prospect of death in the midst of his dreams of happiness. All this was barbarous and impossible, and the Count sought to lull the storm he had excited, to soften her fears, and to efface her suspicions.
"My noble and dear Aminta, no violent and arbitrary power forces me to leave you. Perhaps, however, I am about to undertake a journey--a long journey," he said, with feelings he sought in vain to repress. "An important and imperious duty forces me to do so, and you see that I am sad on account of the farewell I am about to bid you."
"Farewell!" said Aminta, growing pale; "a journey, a departure! Wait but a few months, and we will go together."
This thought, so full of love, seemed sad to the Count, and at once he said,
"No, no; I must make this journey alone. But," said he, "I will return, and thenceforth leave you no more. This will be my last separation and absence." The Count pronounced these words with such earnestness that a smile of joy flitted across Aminta's countenance.
"Well," said she, "at least I know what danger menaces. I know now the secret of your distress, and the cause of the melancholy which I could not before penetrate. Count," continued she, "you have sometimes seen me brave and courageous. Judge then of my affection by the tears which I cannot repress."