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"It is said," returned the Marchese, "that there is a young woman, who is called Ellena Rosalba,—I think that is the name;—do you know any person of the name?"
"Do I know!" exclaimed Vivaldi, "but pardon me, pray proceed, my Lord."
The Marchese paused, and regarded his son with sternness, but without surprize. "It is said, that a young person of this name has contrived to fascinate your affections, and"———
"It is most true, my Lord, that Signora Rosalba has won my affections," interrupted Vivaldi with honest impatience, "but without contrivance."
"I will not be interrupted," said the Marchese, interrupting in his turn. "It is said that she has so artfully adapted her temper to yours, that, with the assistance of a relation who lives with her, she has reduced you to the degrading situation of her devoted suitor."
"Signora