and so the
matter seemed to end.

Maulear was not much engrossed by the suspicions he had previously
conceived of Tonio, because love for Aminta, supposing that such he
bore, did not seem formidable. His apprehensions found something far
more serious. Was the heart of her he loved unoccupied? The strange
episode of the lost veil had not yet been explained. Yielding to the
influence of passion, he had, when he saw the young girl, forgotten
every thing, and the sudden appearance of Scorpione, by rendering it
impossible for Aminta to answer him, complicated the matter yet more.

Just as Signora Rovero went towards the hut, where the Marquis had left
the mute in a state of insensibility, Aminta went to the villa,
preceding those who bore Tonio.

"I will not again trust you with our patient," said Aminta's mother. "He
always returns worse than when he goes."

"Right mother," said Aminta, "henceforth I will not take charge of
Tonio, for his new sufferings have, I am sure, taken away the little
sense he previously had."

Tonio, who heard what Aminta said, looked down and returned to his room,
glooming angrily at the Marquis as he passed.

"You are already one of us, Marquis, on account of the indiscreet
request of my son. But neither my daughter nor myself will complain of
the pleasure he has thus procured us. Now," continued she, "permit me to
show you the most precious treasure in our house."

Leading Maulear to a little boudoir, next her chamber, she drew aside a
curtain of black velvet, and exposed a noble portrait of a man the size
of life. "That is the portrait of my husband, of Aminta's father; of a
loyal and respected man, of an honest and influential minister."

Maulear was amazed at the appearance of the picture. The more he
examined it the more the features seemed to recall some one he had seen
before. His memory, however, was at fault, and left him in uncertainty.

"Strange," said he, to the widow of the minister. "It seems that I have
seen these features before. How can it be, though, that I ever met
Signor Rovero?"

"My husband has been dead two years, and was never in France."

"And I have been but six months in Italy. It is then impossible that we
ever met. The matter is surprising."

They returned to the drawing-room, where Maulear found the White Rose of
Sorrento either drawing or pretending to draw, as a means of concealing
her annoyance.

"Excuse me," said Signora Rovero to Maulear, "if I l