an Maret, sat Rosa,
with a few flowers in her hair, her countenance as sweet to view as the
first blush of a May morn. But when she met the fiery glance which
Gulielmo cast upon her, she seemed abashed, and half turned toward her
companion, with a silent appeal of the eyes. The priest now arrived, and
all was made ready, Gulielmo looking on with a heated brain, and a
feverish sickness gnawing at his heart. He was only able to see a single
lovely face, in which a sudden sadness seemed to dim its former smiling
grace.

"Why wait we?" bluffly exclaimed Jean Maret. "The priest awaits, the
bride is ready. Gulielmo Massani, come forward; Rosa has chosen you as
bridesman."

"Scoundrel!" replied Gulielmo, "dare no jests with me, else your life
may fail you before your wedding is over."

"My wedding may be near at hand," returned Jean; "but I fear much that
Rosa will hardly be my bride. Go, fair maid, and lead this stubborn
youth hither. If all else fail, I think that thou wilt be able to hold
him captive."

Rosa sprang from the porch to meet Gulielmo. Flinging her lily arms
about his neck, her head reclining on his breast:

"Thou art mine," she said; "whether poor or rich, it is the same to me.
Pardon this deceit; it was not my will to give thee needless pain."

"How is this?" Gulielmo was with difficulty able to say. "Your bridal--"

"Come, your place!" interrupted Jean. "There, take her hand. How dull
you are! It seems to me that after all I should make the readiest groom
of the two."

"Not so!" exclaimed Gulielmo. "But I must not allow you to be deceived,
however little my tale may profit me."

"Hold then a moment," Sartello cried. "Your hand, friend Jean; I think
you bear no ill-will. Or if you do, the settlement we'll postpone, till
this present affair shall be concluded. Here, then, in this bag which I
deliver you, you will find a thousand crowns, a forced loan to aid
Gulielmo's studious years; and with the sum, five hundred crowns by way
of interest. I enacted the Russian on a certain occasion,--a counterfeit
lord,--and yet not altogether so, as you will own when you have heard my
story. Four years ago, I held the title of Prince of Cornaro, where I,
in the midst of a beautiful country, upheld the privileges of a lord.
But one luckless day I joined a secret band, which sought to change the
rule by which Italy was swayed. We failed, and I was forced to fly my
native towers, to roam the mountain depths as the ch