“Oh! as to that, cousin, you will only waste your trouble; for seeing how
late it was, and that he could not possibly be here in season to accompany
you, he accepted an invitation to dine with an acquaintance of his (and
yours also, I suppose) whom he met at the races to‐day.”
“An acquaintance of his?...” I repeated, my heart filling with a keen
anguish that made me turn pale without knowing why.
Lando perceived it. “Do not be alarmed,” said he, smiling. “It is not Mme.
de B——, though she was at the races also, and made a fruitless effort to
divert Lorenzo’s mind from what was going on. Really, in your place,”
continued he with his usual levity, “I should regret she did not succeed.
That would have been much better than ... Come, ... do not frown. I am
joking. To be serious, Lorenzo is not going to dine with her to‐day, but
with a lady from Milan who has just arrived, and whom you doubtless know.
It is Donna Faustina Reali, the Marquise de Villanera!...”
Faustina Reali!... This name seemed to justify the strange presentiment I
had just had, and I was tempted to exclaim with Hamlet,
“O my prophetic soul!”
thou hast not deceived me!... I had at that moment a sudden intuition of
the past, the present, and the future. I saw clearly before me a life in
which I should no longer be able to influence Lorenzo, or even to guide
myself!...
I controlled my agitation, however, by a powerful effort, and Lando soon
left me, renewing his first injunctions, and persuaded he had fully
reassured me on other points. I gave him my hand with a smile as he left
the room, and as soon as I found myself alone I covered my face with my
hands, and exclaimed:
“O my dreams! my pleasant dreams! Where have they vanished?”