And then there was always that never-failing resource and consolation of those who, in the words of Horace, limit their ambition to adapting themselves to circumstances instead of adapting circumstances to them, something might turn up; though, for the present, it was difficult to see what that something could possibly be, unless it were the death of his uncle, a perfectly robust and healthy man in the fiftieth year of his life.
Might possibly the something take the shape of a change or mitigation of Paolina's resolve?
No sooner did the idea cross his mind than he felt ashamed of it, and his heart smote him for having for a moment harboured a thought that involved falseness to his promise to her.

Nevertheless, it was not the last time that the thought recurred.
The next morning he met his uncle.
"I had Stadione with me yesterday evening," said the Marchese, "and I wanted to speak to you about something he said.

I was sorry to be told that you were not at the Circolo." "I was sorry that Beppo did not find me.

What was it?
Signor Ercole has succeeded in his mission, I hear." "Yes; and it was on that matter I wanted to speak to you; but this morning will do as well for that.

It was not that that vexed me, Ludovico.