own, that was now made up of antics. He could not endure the tones of
cathedral music; but he had at times to kneel and listen to it, and be
overcome.

On a night in the month of February, a servant out of livery addressed
him at the barrack-gates, requesting him to go at once to a certain
hotel, where his sister was staying. He went, and found there, not his
sister, but Countess Medole. She smiled at his confusion. Both she and
the prince, she said, had spared no effort to get him reinstated in his
rank; but his uncle continually opposed the endeavours of all his friends
to serve him. This interview was dictated by the prince's wish,
so that he might know them to be a not ungrateful couple. Wilfrid's
embarrassment in standing before a lady in private soldier's uniform,
enabled him with very peculiar dignity to declare that his present
degradation, from the General's point of view, was a just punishment, and
he did not crave to have it abated. She remarked that it must end soon.
He made a dim allusion to the littleness of humanity. She laughed.
"It's the language of an unfortunate lover," she said, and straightway,
in some undistinguished sentence, brought the name of Countess Alessandra
Ammiani tingling to his ears. She feared that she could not be of
service to him there; "at least, not just yet," the lady astonished him
by remarking. "I might help you to see her. If you take my advice you
will wait patiently. You know us well enough to understand what patience
will do. She is supposed to have married for love. Whether she did or
not, you must allow a young married woman two years' grace."

The effect of speech like this, and more in a similar strain of frank
corruptness, was to cleanse Wilfrid's mind, and nerve his heart, and he
denied that he had any desire to meet the Countess Ammiani, unless he
could perform a service that would be agreeable to her.