alleged against him. He could not dare, however,
to put questions in such a presence, and he sat moodily thinking over
the issue.

Diverging from the high-road, they now entered a pathway which led
through the vineyards and the olive groves, and, being narrow, Gerald
found himself side by side with the Marquise, without any other near.
Here, at length, his curiosity mastered all reserve, and plucking up
courage for the effort, he said--

'If my presumption were not too bold, madame, I would deem it a great
favour to be permitted to ask you something of this Signor Gabriel. I
know and feel that, do what I will, reason how I may, reject what I can,
yet still his words have eaten down deep into my heart; and if I cannot
put some antidote there against their influence, that they will sway me
even against myself,'

'First, let me hear how he represented himself to you. Was he as a good
man grossly tricked and cheated by the world, his candour imposed on,
his generosity betrayed? Did he picture a noble nature basely trifled
with?'

'No, no,' broke in Gerald; 'he said, indeed, at first he felt disposed
to like his fellow-men, but that the impulse was unprofitable; that the
true philosophy was unbelief. Still he avowed that he devoted himself to
every indulgence; that happiness meant pleasure, pleasure excess;
that out of the convulsive throes of the wildest debauchery, great and
glorious sensations, ennobling thoughts spring--just as the volcano in
full eruption throws up gold amid the lava: and he bade me, if I would
know myself, to taste of this same existence.'

'Poor boy, these were trying temptations,'

'Not so,' broke in Gerald proudly; 'I wanted to be something better and
greater than this,'

'And what would you be?' asked the Marquise, as she turned a look of
interest on him.

'Oh, if a heart's yearning could do it,' cried Gerald warmly, 'I would
be like him who rides yonder; I would be one whose words would give
voice to many an unspoken emotion--who could make sad men hopeful, and
throw over the dreariest waste of existence the soft, mild light of
ideal happiness.'

She shook her head, half-sorrowfully, and said, 'Genius is the gift
of one, or two, or three, in a whole century!' 'Then I would be a
soldier,' cried the boy; 'I would shed my blood for a good cause. A
stout heart and a strong arm are not rare gifts, but they often win rare
honours.'

'Count Alfieri has been thinking about you,' said she, in