for Celia: she was here just now, and she is probably in her father's
cell." The Count is at a loss to understand what this proposal means.
The Marquis explains himself. "I ask your permission," he resumes, "to
offer marriage to Celia--for your sake. The chaplain of the prison will
perform the ceremony. Before dark, the girl you love will be my widow.
My widow is a lady of title--a fit wife for the greatest nobleman in
the land." The Count protests and refuses in vain. The jailer is sent
to find Celia. She appears. Unable to endure the scene, the Count rushes
out in horror. The Marquis takes the girl into his confidence, and makes
his excuses. If she becomes a widow of rank, she may not only marry the
Count, but will be in a position to procure the liberty of the innocent
old man, whose strength is failing him under the rigors of imprisonment.
Celia hesitates. After a struggle with herself, filial love prevails,
and she consents. The jailer announces that the chaplain is waiting; the
bride and bridegroom withdraw to the prison chapel. Left on the stage,
the jailer hears a distant sound in the city, which he is at a loss to
understand. It sinks, increases again, travels nearer to the prison, and
now betrays itself as the sound of multitudinous voices in a state of
furious uproar. Has the conspiracy broken out again? Yes! The whole
population has risen; the soldiers have refused to fire on the people;
the terrified Prince has dismissed his ministers, and promises a
constitution. The Marquis, returning from the ceremony which has just
made Celia his wife, is presented with a free pardon, and with the offer
of a high place in the re-formed ministry. A new life is opening before
him--and he has innocently ruined his friend's prospects! On this
striking situation the drop-curtain falls.

While we were still applauding the first act, Rothsay alarmed me: he
dropped from his seat at my side, like a man struck dead. The stifling
heat in the theater had proved too much for him. We carried him out at
once into the fresh air. When he came to his senses, my friend entreated
me to leave him, and see the end of the play. To my mind, he looked as
if he might faint again. I insisted on going back with him to our hotel.

On the next day I went to the theater, to ascertain if the play would be
repeated. The box-office was closed. The dramatic company had left Rome.

My interest in discovering how the story ended led me next to the
booksel