"Savitre," she said one evening, as they were dressing for a ball,
given in her honor, "that horrid man's attentions are becoming
intolerable! He will not see how I detest him, and am bound by love
and promise to another. I wish Luiz was here; he has been away so
long. I am tired of Tonza's persistence and papa's reproaches."
"Never mind, dearest; all will be well when your brave lover returns.
Perhaps he may be even now on the way. I am sure if he knew how
terribly you were persecuted he would fly to you at once," Savitre
whispered softly.
"I feel miserable--unhappy. Lalli, put away those robes and give me a
plain black dress. During Luiz's absence I will put on mourning, so
Tonza can read the sorrow I feel in my heart."
"But, dear, what will your father say?" Savitre asked anxiously.
"He will be angry, I know. But it is partly his fault I am obliged to
act thus."
In a few minutes Lalli and Tolla had silently arrayed their young
mistress in trailing black robes, which clung softly to her beautiful
form.
No jewelry relieved the somberness of her dress; her dark hair, thick
and long, fell like a veil over her shoulders, adding to the
mournfulness of her garb by its dusky waves.
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