"Am I really so repulsive?" he anxiously asked himself. Then, replying
in thought to his own question: "No, that is not the reason. Marcolina
is not really a woman. She is a she-professor, a she-philosopher, one of
the wonders of the world perhaps--but not a woman."
Yet even as he mused, he knew he was merely attempting to deceive
himself, console himself, save himself; and all his endeavors were vain.
Olivo, who had now come up, addressed Marcolina. "Have I not done well
to invite some one here with whom you can converse as learnedly as with
your professors at Bologna?"
"Indeed, Uncle," answered Marcolina, "there was not one of them who
would have ventured to challenge Voltaire to a duel!"
"What, Voltaire? The Chevalier has called him out?" cried Olivo,
misunderstanding the jest.
"Your witty niece, Olivo, refers to the polemic on which I have been at
work for the last few days, the pastime of leisure hours. I used to have
weightier occupations."
Marcolina, ignoring this remark, said: "You will find it pleasantly cool
now for your walk. Goodbye for the present." She nodded a farewell, and
moved briskly across the greensward to the house.
Pages:
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56