Because, said she, he never did any thing but good to any one.
Father Marescotti, said I, admires him as much as any body.
Admire him! Father Marescotti admire him!--But he does not love him.
And I never heard him say one word against Father Marescotti in my life.
--Well, but, Jeronymo, what made him go away, then? Was he not to stay
supper?
He was desired to stay; but would not.
Jeronymo, let me whisper you--Did he tell you that I wrote him a letter?
I guessed you did, whispered I.
You are a strange guesser: but you can't guess how I sent it to him--But
hush, Jeronymo--Well, but, Jeronymo, Did he say nothing of me, when he
went away?
He left his compliments for you with the general.
With the general! The general won't tell me!
Yes, he will.--Brother, pray tell my sister what the chevalier said to
you, at parting.
He repeated, exactly, what you had desired him to say to her.
Why would they not let me see him? said she. Am I never to see him more?
I hope you will, replied the bishop.
If, resumed she, we could have done any thing that might have looked like
a return to his goodness to us (and to you, my Jeronymo, in particular) I
believe I should have been easy.--And so you say he is gone?--And gone
for ever! lifting up her hand from her wrist, as it lay over my shoulder:
Poor chevalier!--But hush, hush, pray hush, Jeronymo.
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