termined, for the second time, to take
the earliest opportunity of speaking to Count Marescotti before the
ridiculous reports circulating in Lucca reached him.

"Per Bacco!" he replied, "when the count is as old as I am, he
will have learned that quiet is the greatest luxury a man can
enjoy--especially in Italy, where the climate is hot and fevers
frequent."

How long the count would have continued in the clouds, it is
impossible to say, had he not been suddenly brought down to earth--or,
at least, the earth on the top of the tower--by something that
suddenly struck his gaze.

Enrica, who had strained her eyes in vain to discover some trace of
Nobili in the narrow street below, or in the garden behind his palace,
had now thrown herself on the grass under the overhanging branches of
the glossy bay-trees. These inclosed her as in a bower. Her colorless
face rested upon her hand, her eyes were turned toward the ground,
and her long blond hair fell in a tangled mass below the folds of her
veil, upon her white dress. The count stood transfixed before her.

"Move not, sweet vision!" he cried. "Be ever so! That innocent face
shaded by the classic bay; that white robe rustling with the thrill of
womanly affinities; those fair locks floating like an aureole in the
breeze thy breath has softly perfumed! Rest there enthroned--the world
thy backguard, the sky thy canopy! Stay, let me crown thee!"

As he spoke he hastily plucked some sprays of bay, which he twisted
into a wreath. He approached Enrica, who had remained quite still,
and, kneeling at her feet, placed the wreath upon her head.

"Enrica Guinigi"--the count spoke so softly that neither Trenta nor
Baldassare could catch the words--"there is something in your beauty
too ethereal for this world."

Enrica, covered with blushes, tried to rise, but he held out his hands
imploringly for her to remain.

"Suffer me to speak to you. Yours is a face of one easily moved to
love--to love and to suffer," he added, strange lights coming into his
eyes as he gazed at her.

Enrica listened to him in painful silence; his words sounded
prophetic.

"To love and to suffer; but, loving once"--again the count was
speaking, and his voice enchained her by its sweetness--"to love
forever. Where shall the man be found pure enough to dare to accept
such love as you can bestow? By Heavens!" he added, and his voice fell
to a whisper, and his black eyes seemed to penetrate into her very
so