Anastase Gouache was disgusted with his state of forced inaction
as he paced the crowded pavement of the Corso every afternoon for
three weeks after his accident, smoking endless cigarettes, and
cursing the fate which kept him an invalid at home when his
fellow-soldiers were enjoying themselves amidst the smell of
gunpowder and the adventures of frontier skirmishing. It was
indeed bad luck, he thought, to have worn the uniform during
nearly two years of perfect health and then to be disabled just
when the fighting began. He had one consolation, however, in the
midst of his annoyance, and he made the most of it. He had been
fascinated by Donna Faustina Montevarchi's brown eyes, and for
lack of any other interest upon which to expend his energy he had
so well employed his time that he was now very seriously in love
with that young lady. Among her numerous attractions was one which
had a powerful influence on the young artist, namely, the fact
that she was, according to all human calculations, absolutely
beyond his reach. Nothing had more charm for Gouache, as for many
gifted and energetic young men, than that which it must require a
desperate effort to get, if it could be got at all. Frenchmen, as
well as Italians, consider marriage so much in the light of a mere
contract which must be settled between notaries and ratified by
parental assent, that to love a young girl seems to them like an
episode out of a fairy tale, enchantingly novel and altogether
delightful.
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