ul, "you love already. I read it in the depths of those heavenly
eyes, in the shadow that already darkens that soft brow, in the
dreamy, languid air that robs you of your youth. You love--is it
possible that you love--?"

He stopped before the question was finished--before the name was
uttered. A spasm, as if wrung from him by sharp bodily pain, passed
over his features as he asked this question, never destined to be
answered. No one but Enrica had heard it. An indescribable terror
seized her; from pale she grew deadly white; her eyelids dropped, her
lips trembled. Tears gathered in Marescotti's eyes as he gazed at her,
but he dared not complete the question.

"If you have guessed my secret, do not--oh! do not betray me!"

She said this so faintly that the sound came to him like a whisper
from the rustling bay-leaves.

"Never!" he responded in a low, earnest tone--"never!"

She believed him implicitly. With that look, that voice, who could
doubt him?

"I have cause to suffer," she replied with a sigh, not venturing to
meet his eyes--"to suffer and to wait. But my aunt--"

She said no more; her head fell on her bosom, her arms dropped to her
side, she sighed deeply.

"May I be at hand to shield you!" was his answer.

After this, he, too, was silent. Rising from his knees, he leaned
against the trunk of the bay-tree and contemplated her steadfastly.
There was a strange mixture of passion and of curiosity in his mobile
face. If she would not tell him, could he not rend her secret from
her?

Trenta, seated at the opposite side of the platform, observed them as
they stood side by side, half concealed by the foliage--observed them
with benign satisfaction. It was all as it should be; his mission
would be easy. It was clear they understood each other. He believed at
that very moment Enrica was receiving the confession of Marescotti's
love; the confusion of her looks was conclusive. The cavaliere's whole
endeavor was, at that moment, to keep Baldassare quiet; he rejoiced
to see that he was gently yielding to the influence of the heat, and
nodding at his side.

"Count," said Enrica, looking up and endeavoring to break a silence
which had become painful, "if I have inspired you with any interest--"

She hesitated.

"_If_ you have inspired me?" ejaculated Marescotti, reproachfully, not
moving his eyes off her.

"I can hardly believe it," she added; "but, if it be so, speak to me
in the voice of poetry. Tell me y