"Yes, she loves him, because she deludes herself with the idea that
he is worthy of love. But if she were to find him out her whole soul
would indignantly repulse him. If she knew all _I_ know of him, she
would rather embrace the mildewy skeleton of San Carlo Borromeo,
with the great jewels glistening in his ghastly eye-sockets, than
the well-fed, fresh coloured Florian Varillo!"
"If you fear for her happiness, why not warn her?" asked Aubrey.
"Warn her against the one creature she loves in the world?" said the
Princesse, "Thanks very much! I would rather not. She would never
speak to me again, and I should lose every chance of comforting or
helping her when affliction comes--as of course it is bound to come!
Each individual man or woman makes his or her own life,--we poor
'friends' can only stand and look on, waiting till they get into the
muddle that we have always foreseen, and then doing our best to drag
them out of it; but God Himself I think, could not save them from
falling into the muddle in the first place. As for Sylvie, I have
advised her to leave Rome and go back to Budapest at once."
Aubrey started.
"Why?"
"Why? Can you ask? Because she is misjudged here on account of
Fontenelle's death, and calumniated and wronged; because the women
hate her for her beauty and wealth, and the men hate her too because
she will not flatter them by accepting their ridiculous attentions.
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