had said it; she would be free. They say that
men who have been long confined in a dungeon become
indifferent, and when turned out upon the world would
at first gladly return to their prison walls.
Liberty is in the first place an instinct, but it
will easily grow to be a habit. Corona had renounced
all thought of freedom five years ago, and in the
patient bowing of her noble nature to the path she
had chosen, she had attained to a state of renunciation
like that of a man who has buried himself for ever
in an order of Trappists, and neither dreams of the
freedom of the outer world, nor desires to dream of
it. And she had grown fond of the aged dandy and
his foolish ways—ways which seemed foolish
because they were those of youth grafted upon senility.
She had not known that she was fond of him, it is
true; but now that he spoke of dying, she felt that
she would weep his loss. He was her only companion,
her only friend. In the loyal determination to
be faithful to him, she had so shut herself from all
intimacy with the world that she had not a friend.
She kept women at a distance from her, instinctively
dreading lest in their careless talk some hint or
comment should remind her that she had married a man
ridiculous in their eyes; and with men she could have
but little intercourse, for their society was dangerous.
No man save Giovanni Saracinesca had for years put
himself in the light of a mere acquaintance, always
ready to talk to her upon general subjects, studiously
avoiding himself in all discussions, and delicately
flattering her vanity by his deference to her judgment.
The other men had generally spoken of love at the
second meeting, and declared themselves devoted to
her for life at the end of a week: she had quietly
repulsed them, and they had dropped back into the
position of indifferent acquaintances, going in search
of other game, after the manner of young gentlemen
of leisure. Giovanni alone had sternly maintained
his air of calmness, had never offended her simple
pride of loyalty to Astrardente by word or deed; so
that, although she felt and dreaded her growing interest
in him, she had actually believed that he was nothing
in her life, until at last she had been undeceived
and awakened to the knowledge of his fierce passion,
and being taken unawares, had nearly been carried
off her feet by the tempest his words had roused in
her own breast. But her strength had not utterly
deserted her. Years of supreme devotion to the
right, of honest and unwavering loyalty, neither deceiving
her conscience on the one hand with the morbid food
of a fictitious religious exaltation, nor, upon the
other, sinking to a cynical indifference to inevitable
misery; days of quiet and constant effort; long hours
of thoughtful meditation upon the one resolution of
her life,—all this had strengthened the
natural force of her character, so that, when at last
the great trial had come, she had not yielded, but
had conquered once and for ever, in the very moment