He paced forward and back, murmuring in French, 'Mon Dieu! was there ever such a folly as in the head of this girl?
It is her occasion:--Shall I be a Star?
Shall I be a Cinder?
It is tomorrow night her moment of Birth! No; she prefers to be extinguished.

For what?
For this thing she calls her country.

It is infamous.

Yes, vile little cheat! But, do you know Antonio-Pericles?
Not yet.

I will nourish you, I will imprison you: I will have you tortured by love, by the very devil of love, by the red-hot pincers of love, till you scream a music, and die to melt him with your voice, and kick your country to the gutter, and know your Italy for a birthplace and a cradle of Song, and no more, and enough! Bah!' Having thus delivered himself of the effervescence of his internal agitation, he turned sharply round upon Luigi, with a military stamp of the foot and shout of the man's name.
'It is love she wants,' Antonio-Pericles resumed his savage soliloquy.
'She wants to be kindled on fire.