"I am not," said she, with vehemence, "for they refuse me the prize of
fame! Have you been with the pope, your eminence, and what did he say?"
"I come directly from him."
"Well, and what says he?"
"What he always says to me--no!"
Corilla stamped her feet violently, and her eyes flashed lightnings.
"How beautiful you are now!" tenderly remarked the cardinal, throwing an
arm around her.
She rudely thrust him back. "Touch me not," said she, "you do not
deserve my love. You are a weakling, as all men are. You can only coo
like a pigeon, but when it comes to action, then sinks your arm, and
you are powerless. Ah, the woman whom you profess to love begs of you a
trifling service, the performance of which is of the highest importance
to her, the greatest favor, and you will not fulfil her request while
yet swearing you love her! Go! you are a cold-hearted man, and wholly
undeserving of Corilla's love!"
"But," despairingly exclaimed the cardinal, "you require of me a service
that it is not in my power to perform. Ask something else, Corilla--ask
a human life, and you shall have it! But I cannot give what is not mine.
You demand a laurel-crown, which only the pope has the power to bestow,
and he has sworn that you shall not have it so long as he lives!"
"Will he, then, live eternally?" cried Corilla, beside herself with
rage.
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