He, poor man, had long lost all control of himself.

His resolutions, long pondered in the solitude of Saracinesca, had vanished like unsubstantial vapours before a strong fire, and his heart and soul were ablaze.
"Do not look at me so," he said almost tenderly.

"Do not look at me as though you feared me, as though you hated me.

Can you not see that it is I who fear you as well as love you, who tremble at your coldness, who watch for your slightest kind look?
Ah, Corona, you have made me so happy!--there is no angel in all heaven but would give up his Paradise to change for mine!" He had taken her hand and pressed it wildly to his lips.

Her eyelids drooped, and her head fell back for one moment.