en stair,
crossing from angle to angle up to a dizzy height, with no other
support but a frail banister; this even was broken in places. The
count and Enrica both entreated the cavaliere to remain below.
Marescotti ventured to allude to his great age--a subject he himself
continually, as has been seen, mentioned, but which he generally much
resented when alluded to by others.

Trenta listened with perfect gravity and politeness, but, when the
count had done speaking, he placed his foot firmly on the first stair,
and began to ascend after the porter. The others were obliged to
follow. At the last flight several loose planks shook ominously
under their feet; but Trenta, assisted by his stick, stepped on
perseveringly. He also insisted on helping Enrica, who was next to
him, and who by this time was both giddy and frightened. At length a
trap-door, at the top of the tower, was reached and unbarred by
the attendant. Without, covered with grass, is a square platform,
protected by a machicolated parapet of turreted stone-work. In the
centre rises a cluster of ancient bay-trees, fresh and luxuriant,
spite of the wind and storms of centuries.

The count leaped out upon the greensward and rushed to the parapet.

"How beautiful!" he exclaimed, throwing back his head and drawing in
the warm air. "See how the sun of New Italy lights up the old city!
Cathedral, palace, church, gallery, roof, tower, all ablaze at our
feet! Speak, tell me, is it not wonderful?" and he turned to Enrica,
who, anxiously turning from side to side, was trying to discover where
she could best overlook the street of San Simone and Nobili's palace.

Addressed by Marescotti, she started and stopped short.

"Never, never," he continued, becoming greatly excited, "shall I
forget this meeting!--here with you--the golden-haired daughter of
this ancient house!"

"I!" exclaimed Enrica. "O count, what a mistake! I have no house, no
home. I live on the charity of my aunt."

"That makes no difference in your descent, fair Guinigi. Charity!
charity! Who would not shower down oceans of charity to possess such
a treasure?" He leaned his back against the parapet, and bent his
eyes with fervent admiration on her. "It is only in verse that I can
celebrate her," he muttered, "prose is too cold for her warm coloring.
The Madonna--the uninstructed Madonna--before the archangel's visit--"

"But, count," said Enrica timidly (his vehemence and strange glances
made her fe