This delightful intoxication of soul was destined to be disturbed. A
boat was approaching from Lucerne; Gina, who had been watching it
attentively, gave a joyful start, though faithful to her part as a
mute. The bark came nearer; when at length Francesca could distinguish
the faces on board, she exclaimed, "Tito!" as she perceived a young
man. She stood up, and remained standing at the risk of being drowned.
"Tito! Tito!" cried she, waving her handkerchief.
Tito desired the boatmen to slacken, and the two boats pulled side by
side. The Italian and Tito talked with such extreme rapidity, and in a
dialect unfamiliar to a man who hardly knew even the Italian of books,
that Rodolphe could neither hear nor guess the drift of this
conversation. But Tito's handsome face, Francesca's familiarity, and
Gina's expression of delight, all aggrieved him. And indeed no lover
can help being ill pleased at finding himself neglected for another,
whoever he may be. Tito tossed a little leather bag to Gina, full of
gold no doubt, and a packet of letters to Francesca, who began to read
them, with a farewell wave of the hand to Tito.
"Get quickly back to Gersau," she said to the boatmen, "I will not let
my poor Emilio pine ten minutes longer than he need."
"What has happened?" asked Rodolphe, as he saw Francesca finish
reading the last letter.
"_La liberta_!" she exclaimed, with an artist's enthusiasm.
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