day of his joy? It was so vague, yet so tangible if judged by
its effect on others. Others held Enrica dishonored, that was clear.
Was she dishonored? He was bound to her by every tie of honor. He
loved her. She had a charm for him no other woman ever possessed, and
she loved him. A women's eye, he told himself, had never deceived him.
Yes, she loved him. Yet if Enrica were as guileless as she seemed, how
could she conceal from him she had another lover--less loved perhaps
than he--but still a lover? And this lover had refused to marry her?
That was the stab. That every one in Lucca should know his future
bride had been scouted by another man who had turned a rhyme upon her,
and left her! Could he bear this?

What were Enrica's relations with Marescotti? Some one had said she
had accepted him. Nobili was sure he had heard this. He, Marescotti,
must have approached her nearly by her own confession. He had
celebrated her in sonnets, amorous sonnets--damnable thought!--gone
with her to the Guinigi Tower--then rejected her! A mist seemed to
gather about Nobili as he thought of this. He grew stupid in
long vistas of speculation. Had Enrica not dared to meet
him--Nobili--clandestinely? Was not this very act unmaidenly? (Such
are men: they urge the slip, the fall, then judge a woman by the
force of their own urging!) Had Enrica met Marescotti in secret also?
No--impossible! The scared, white face was before Nobili, now plainer
than ever. No--he hated himself for the very thought. All the chivalry
of his nature rose up to acquit her.

Still there was a mystery. How far was Enrica concerned in it? Would
she have married Count Marescotti? Trenta was away, or he would
question him. _Had he better ask? What might he hear_? Some one had
deceived him grossly. The marchesa would stick at nothing; yet what
could the marchesa have done without Enrica? Nobili was perplexed
beyond expression. He buried his head within his arms, and leaned upon
a table in an agony of doubt. Then he paced up and down the splendid
room, painted with frescoed walls, and hung with rose and silver
draperies from Paris (it was to have been Enrica's boudoir), looking
south into a delicious town-garden, with statues, and flower-beds,
and terraces of marble diamonded in brilliant colors. To be so
cheated!--to be the laughing-stock of Lucca! Good God! how could he
bear it? To marry a wife who would be pointed at with whispered words!
Of all earthly things this was