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satisfactory, as she did not allow me now to
look into her innermost heart, as she formerly
used to do.
Shortly after my departure for Italy, she had
made the acquaintance of a man, who, she said,
was the most original and interesting character
she had ever met. From the very first, he had
inspired her with the strongest sympathy and
admiration, and by degree, this feeling had
developed into passionate love. He, on his side,
had admired her, and paid her warm attention;
he had even asked her to become his wife. But
she felt as if he had been attracted, more from
admiration than from love, and therefore, very
naturally, she had refused to marry him; but
now, it became her great object to conquer him
entirely, to make his affection equal to her own.
This struggle formed the whole history of her
life during our separation. She tormented him
and herself with her impossible claims, and her
passionate jealousy; sometimes they would part
in a fury—Sonia in deep despair; then they
would meet and be reconciled, only to have
the same scenes over again.
The letters to me from this period, reflect
very little of her inner life. It was her nature
to be very reserved in all that concerned her
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