CHAPTER XXI.
EVERY drop of blood quivered in the young patrician at sight of her.
He forgot the crowd, the old man, his own astonishment at the incomprehensible things which he had heard,--he saw only her.

At last, after all his efforts, after long days of alarm, trouble, and suffering, he had found her! For the first time he realized that joy might rush at the heart, like a wild beast, and squeeze it till breath was lost.

He, who had supposed hitherto that on "Fortuna" had been imposed a kind of duty to accomplish all his wishes, hardly believed his own eyes now and his own happiness.

Were it not for that disbelief, his passionate nature might have urged him to some unconsidered step; but he wished to convince himself first that that was not the continuation of those miracles with which his head was filled, and that he was not dreaming.
But there was no doubt,--he saw Lygia, and an interval of barely a few steps divided them.

She stood in perfect light, so that he could rejoice in the sight of her as much as he liked.