Se si sta
Cosi cola,
Non si sa
Se non si va
Ahi me lontano!
Tulto e in vano!
Prendimi in mano
Per carita!"
"It is Angela," said the Cardinal, "She has a wonderfully sweet
voice."
"Prendimi in mano,
Per carita!"
murmured Abbe Vergniaud, still listening, "It is like the cry of a
lost soul!"
"Or a strayed one," interposed the Cardinal gently, and rising, he
took Vergniaud's arm, and leaned upon it with a kindly and familiar
grace, an action which implied much more than the mere outward
expression of confidence,--"Nothing is utterly lost, my dear friend.
'The very hairs of our head are numbered,'--not a drop of dew
escapes to waste,--how much more precious than a drop of dew is the
spirit of a man!"
"It is not so unsullied," declared Vergniaud, who loved
controversy,--"Personally, I think the dew is more valuable than the
soul, because so absolutely clean!"
"You must not bring every line of discussion to a pin's point," said
Bonpre smiling, as he walked slowly across the room still leaning on
the Abbe's arm. "We can reduce our very selves to the bodiless
condition of a dream if we take sufficient pains first to advance a
theory, and then to wear it threadbare.
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