I answered him as I had done the marchioness. He seemed as much pleased with roe as I am with him. He is gone back to Parma.

Friday, May 1223.

The bishop is returned. Lady Clementina has been very ill; a fever. How has she been hurried about! He tells me, that the general and his lady, and also the Conte della Poretta, acknowledge them-selves and their whole family obliged to me for the trouble I have been at to serve their Jeronymo.

The fever having left Lady Clementina, she will set out in a day or two. The Count and Signor Sebastiano, as well as the general and his lady, will attend her. I am impatient to see her. Yet how greatly will the sight of her afflict me! The bishop says, she is the picture of silent woe: yet, though greatly emaciated, looks herself, were his words. They told her, that Jeronymo was better than he had been. Your dear Jeronymo, said the general to her. The sweet echo repeated Jero-nymo and was again silent.

They afterwards proposed to name me to her. They did. She looked quick about her, as if for Somebody. Laura, her maid, was occasionally called upon. She started, and threw her arms about Ca-milla, as terrified; looking wildly. Camilla doubts not, but by the name Laura, she apprehends the savage Laurana to be at hand.

How must she have suffered from her barbarity! Sweet innocent! She, who even in her reveries thought not but of good to the soul of the man whom she honoured with her regard She, who bore offence without resentment; and by meekness only sought to calm the violence for which she had not given the least cause!

But when Camilla and she had retired, she spoke to her. The bishop gave me the following dialogue between them, as he had it from Camilla:

Did they not name to me the Chevalier Grandi-son? said she.

They did, madam.

See! see! said she, before I name him again, if my cruel cousin hearken not at the door.

Your cruel cousin, madam, is at many miles distance.

She may hear what I say, for all that.

My dear Lady Clementina, she cannot hear. She shall never more come near you.

So you say.

Did I ever deceive you, madam?

I can’t remember: my memory is gone; quite gone, Camilla.

She then looked earnestly at Camilla, and screamed.

What ails you, my dearest young lady?

Recovering herself Ah, my own Camilla! It is you. I thought, by the cast of your eye, you were become Laurana. Do not, do not, give me such another look!

Camilla was not sensible of any particularity in her looks.

Here you have me again upon a journey, Ca-milla: but how do I know that I am not to be car — ried to my cruel cousin ?

You are really going to your father’s palace at Bologna, madam.

Is my mother there?

She is.

Who else?