He knows it now, I believe. He knows that a
Gualandi of Siena is not at the beck and call of a pig of Padua. When he
comes here, he will come in his right senses, you will see."
I begged her to tell me her story; but she said there was little to
tell. She had not left Padua, as I had supposed, but had stayed with
friends of hers in the hope that what she called the pazzeria of the
doctor would be blown away. Finding that he was obstinate, she had gone
to Modena, where she lived for a while as companion to an ancient lady,
who became very fond of her. It needed, indeed, a convenient bronchitis
to give her her liberty again. When this occurred she found herself
provided with a pretty legacy--enough to make her independent of the
doctor, but at the same time more necessary to his happiness. She had
intended, she said, for Siena; but the hospitality of Donna Giulia was
pressed upon her, and the good services of the count were freely hers.
There was talk of a judgeship for her husband; she would see how events
turned about before she made any plans. "And you, Francis," she
continued, "are not to be ridiculous any more, nor wander about without
shoes, nor consort with rubbish any more. You are to go back to your
studies and your books, and take your degree. You are to say good-bye to
Aurelia as soon as you are well enough, and forget that you ever knew
her, if you can."
"If I forget you, Aurelia, I shall forget Heaven," I said.
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