hanging down over her handkerchief. Having entered the apartment unperceived, and her back being turned towards me, I heard her sob, and saw some tears trickle down upon the music-book before her. I drew nearer, and was not heard. I knelt at her feet, laid hold of the unoccupied hand, kissed it, but she seemed as motionless as a statue. At last she startled, and seeing me by her side, attempted to rise in haste, but I kept her, still silent, on her seat.
"Ah, Carlos," cried she, "what have your seen?—Why, this arietta is so moving, so inexpressibly moving—have you never heard it? I'll play it again if you chuse."
She now turned over the leaves of the notes; but I soon saw, the arietta was nowhere to be found. She endeavoured, at least, to recover her usual sprightliness; but this was as inattainable as the moving song.
"Madam," began I, "we cannot always find what we look for—my own experience for that. I came hither quite depressed, and thought to find you in high spirits; but I meet only tears and reserve!"
