But you don't hear me, little pupil of my eyes,--you don't hear me!" "And these things are whispered of Zanoni!" said Viola, half to herself, and unheeding Gionetta's eulogies on Glyndon and the English.
"Blessed Maria! do not talk of this terrible Zanoni.

You may be sure that his beautiful face, like his yet more beautiful pistoles, is only witchcraft.

I look at the money he gave me the other night, every quarter of an hour, to see whether it has not turned into pebbles." "Do you then really believe," said Viola, with timid earnestness, "that sorcery still exists ?" "Believe! Do I believe in the blessed San Gennaro?
How do you think he cured old Filippo the fisherman, when the doctor gave him up?
How do you think he has managed himself to live at least these three hundred years?
How do you think he fascinates every one to his bidding with a look, as the vampires do ?" "Ah, is this only witchcraft?
It is like it,--it must be!" murmured Viola, turning very pale.

Gionetta herself was scarcely more superstitious than the daughter of the musician.

And her very innocence, chilled at the strangeness of virgin passion, might well ascribe to magic what hearts more experienced would have resolved to love.
"And then, why has this great Prince di -- been so terrified by him?
Why has he ceased to persecute us?
Why has he been so quiet and still?
Is there no sorcery in all that ?" "Think you, then," said Viola, with sweet inconsistency, "that I owe that happiness and safety to his protection?
Oh, let me so believe! Be silent, Gionetta! Why have I only thee and my own terrors to consult?
O beautiful sun!" and the girl pressed her hand to her heart with wild energy; "thou lightest every spot but this.