ison.

Aminta listened to every word. She suffered with the prisoner, hoped
with him, and followed all the details of the story, exhibiting the most
profound pity for the occurrence. Signora Rovero sympathized with her
daughter, and, for the time, Monte-Leone was the hero of the villa. All
the prejudices of Aminta disappeared in a moment in the presence of
Monte-Leone, as the morning vapors are dispersed by the first rays of
the sun.

Maulear, in icy silence, listened to the Count and looked at Aminta. As
he did so, his brow became covered with clouds precisely as that of
Aminta began to grow bright. The latter, perceiving the painful
impressions of the Marquis, extended every attention to him, so that
Monte-Leone began to grow moody. The two rivals passed the whole day in
alternations of hope and fear, happiness and suffering. The state of
things, however, was too tense to be of long duration. These few hours
seemed centuries to the adorers of Aminta, and if any one had been able
to look into the depths of their ulcerated hearts, he would have seen
that a spark would have produced an explosion. Many of the neighbors of
Signora Rovero, who had not visited her since the ball, ventured to
return. Among others present was Gaetano Brignoli. All loved him for his
frank and pleasant off-hand speeches, and all received him with good
humor and confidence. Maulear, who had laid aside his dislike, received
him kindly, as he had previously done distantly. The _Rose of Sorrento_
reproached Gaetano with having forgotten his promise.

"You should yourself on the next day," said she, "have given me news of
Taddeo and of Monte-Leone's trial. You, however, only wrote. Friends
like you, and brothers like mine, are unworthy of the affection bestowed
on them." Then, like a child _making friends_ with a playmate, she took
Gaetano into the embrasure of a meadow, and began to talk with him in a
low tone. The night promised to be brilliant and serene, and the air to
be soft and pleasant. The evening breeze penetrated into the saloon,
refreshing the atmosphere with the respiration of the sea. "What a
magnificent evening, Marquis," said Monte-Leone to Maulear, as he
approached him, and looked at the stars which had begun to dot the sky.

It was the first time the Count had spoken to the Marquis directly. The
latter trembled as a soldier who hears the sound of the first battle
signal. His emotion was short, and saluting the Count affably as
p