In the evening, I visit my sweetheart; when the night is fine, we pass it
on her balcony.' I don't know whether you have a sweetheart, or whether
she has a balcony. But if you are so happy, it's certainly better than
trying to find a charm in a third-rate prima donna."
He made no immediate response, but at last he turned to me solemnly. "Can
you look upon a beautiful woman with reverent eyes?"
"Really," I said, "I don't pretend to be sheepish, but I should be sorry
to think I was impudent." And I asked him what in the world he meant.
When at last I had assured him that I could undertake to temper
admiration with respect, he informed me, with an air of religious
mystery, that it was in his power to introduce me to the most beautiful
woman in Italy--"A beauty with a soul!"
"Upon my word," I cried, "you are extremely fortunate, and that is a most
attractive description."
"This woman's beauty," he went on, "is a lesson, a morality, a poem! It's
my daily study."
Of course, after this, I lost no time in reminding him of what, before we
parted, had taken the shape of a promise.
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