"It is so little
a secret, that I shall recite this sonnet at the court festival this
very evening. I shall not, therefore, need your secrecy, Rosabella."
"So the fair Geraldine never shows herself to you unless in a dark
veil, black as the night," said the duchess, musingly. "But tell me,
brother, who then is the fair Geraldine? Of the ladies at court, I
know not a single one who bears that name."
"So you see from that, the whole is only a fiction--a creation of my
fancy."
"No, indeed," said she, smiling; "one does not write with such
warmth and enthusiasm unless he is really in love. You sing your
lady-love, and you give her another name. That is very plain. Do not
deny it, Henry, for I know indeed that you have a lady-love. It may
be read in your eyes. And look you! it is on account of this dear
one that I have come to you. It pains me, Henry, that you have no
confidence in me, and allow me no share in your joys and sorrows. Do
you not know, then, how tenderly I love you, my dear, noble
brother?"
She put her arm tenderly round his neck, and wanted to kiss him. He
bent his head back, and laying his hand on her rosy, round chin, he
looked inquiringly and smilingly into her eyes.
"You want something of me, Rosabella!" said he. "I have never yet
enjoyed your tenderness and sisterly affection, except when you
needed my services."
"How suspicious you are!" cried she, with a charming pout, as she
shook his hand away from her face.
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