sought for in vain was now found among Camilla’s other ornaments. So my long narrative ended.
“‘That is a marvellous legend, in good earnest,’ said the Count. The Countess heaved a long sigh, and Libussa said, ‘To say the truth, I should rather not have listened to it—I felt many times a cold shuddering in every limb.’ ‘No doubt,’ answered I—‘every new betrothed bride or lover must feel in this manner, who hears my legend, as the Count is pleased to term it;’ and with these words I looked at Marino, who had frequently started up from his chair, and evidently could not get the better of his apprehensions that I was meditating formidable opposition to his present plans. When we retired to rest that evening, he whispered to me, ‘I have a few words to say in private,’ and I brought him into my own chamber. ‘I perceive your kind intentions,’ said he,—‘this lying story that you have made up.’—‘Halt,’ cried I, greatly enraged—‘you have heard that I myself was a witness. How dare you accuse a man of honour of premeditated falsehood?’—‘Of that question afterwards,’ said he scornfully; ‘but for the present let me observe, that wheresoever you have got the anecdote of the
