. We will settle the day of the betrothal.--My sweet Enrica, how I
long to see you!"

While he is speaking Trenta rises and strikes his cane on the ground
with a triumphant air; then he holds out both his hands toward the
count.

"Shake hands with me, my dear Marescotti. I congratulate you--with my
whole soul I congratulate you! She will be your salvation, the dear,
blue-eyed little angel?"

In the tumult of his excitement Trenta had taken every thing for
granted. His thoughts had flown off to Enrica. His benevolent
heart throbbed with joy at the thought of her emancipation from
the thralldom of her home. A vision of the dark-haired, pale-faced
Marescotti, and the little blond head, with its shower of golden
curls, kneeling together before the altar in the sunshine, danced
before his eyes. Marescotti would become a, Christian--a firm pillar
of the Church; he would rear up children who would worship God and the
Holy Father; he would restore the glory of the Guinigi!

From this roseate dream the poor cavaliere was abruptly roused. His
outstretched hand had not been taken by Marescotti. It dropped to
his side. Trenta looked up sharply. His countenance suddenly fell; a
purple flush covered it from chin to forehead, penetrating even the
very roots of his snowy hair. His cane dropped with a loud thud, and
rolled away along the uncarpeted floor. He thrust both his hands into
his pockets, and stood motionless, with his eyes wide open, like a man
stunned.

"Dio buono!--Dio buono!" he muttered, "the man is mad!--the man is
mad!" Then, after a few minutes of absolute silence, he asked, in a
husky voice, "Marescotti, what does this mean?"

The count had turned away toward the window. At the sound of the
cavaliere's husky voice, he moved and faced him. In the space of a
few moments he had greatly changed. Suddenly he had grown worn and
weary-looking. His eyes were sunk into his head; dark circles had
formed round them. His bloodless cheeks, transparent with the pallor
of perfect health, were blanched; the corners of his mouth worked
convulsively.

"Does the lady--does Enrica Guinigi know of this proposal?" he asked,
in a voice so sad that the cavaliere's indignation against him cooled
considerably.

"Good God!" exclaimed Trenta, "such a question is an insult to me and
to my errand. Can you imagine that I, all my life chamberlain to his
highness the Duke of Lucca, am capable of compromising a lady?"

"Thank God!" ejacula