EDIANO.

Count Marescotti was walking rapidly up and down in the shade before
the Guinigi Palace when the cavaliere and Baldassare appeared. He was
so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did not perceive them.

"I must speak to him as soon as possible about Enrica," was Trenta's
thought on seeing him. "With this report going about, there is not an
hour to lose."

"You have kept your appointment punctually, count," he said, laying
his hand on Marescotti's shoulder.

"Punctual, my dear cavaliere? I never missed an appointment in my life
when made with a lady. I was up long before daylight, looking over
some books I have with me, in order to be able the better to describe
any object of interest to the Signorina Enrica."

"An opportunity for you, my boy," said Trenta, nodding his head
roguishly at Baldassare. "You will have a lesson in Lucchese history.
Of course, you know nothing about it."

"Every man has his forte," observed the count, good-naturedly, seeing
Baldassare's embarrassment at having his ignorance exposed. (The
cavaliere never could leave poor Adonis alone.) "We all know your
forte is the ballroom; there you beat us all."

"Taught by me, taught by me," muttered the cavaliere; "he owes it all
to me."

Leaving the count and Baldassare standing together in the street,
the cavaliere knocked at the door of the Guinigi Palace. When it was
opened he entered the gloomy court. Within he found Enrica and Teresa
awaiting his arrival.

At the sight of her whom he so much loved, and of whom he had just
heard what he conceived to be such an atrocious calumny, the cavaliere
was quite overcome. Tears gathered in his eyes; he could hardly reply
to her when she addressed him.

"My Enrica," he said at last, taking her by the hand and imprinting a
kiss upon her forehead, "you are a good child. Heaven bless you, and
keep you always as you are!" A conscious blush overspread Enrica's
face.

"If he knew all, would he say this?" she asked herself; and her pretty
head with the soft curls dropped involuntarily.

Enrica was very simply attired, but the flowing lines of her graceful
figure were not to be disguised by any mere accident of dress. A black
veil, fastened upon her hair like a mantilla (a style much affected
by the Lucca ladies), fell in thick folds upon her shoulders, and
partially shaded her face.

Teresa stood by her young mistress, prepared to follow her. Trenta
perceived this. He did not like Teresa. I