pistle of the Prince had however reversed all his
dreams. The anger of the Prince when he should learn that a marriage had
been contracted, contrary to his wishes, and in spite of his orders,
might possibly exert a terrible influence on the fortune and future fate
of the young couple; without regarding the chagrin and humiliation to
which he would subject Aminta by bringing her into a family without the
consent of its head.

Maulear passed three days in this cruel perplexity, sometimes hoping and
then fearing that Aminta would yield to his prayer. His heart wished.
His mind feared. If Signorina Rovero should accept his hand, it would be
necessary for him to decide, to act; and then, from the weakness of his
character, Maulear would be subjected to cruel uncertainty.

A few days after the scene which had occurred in his room, Maulear and
the ladies sat together in a boudoir near the _salon_, which opened on
the park, a view of which Aminta was taking. The Marquis had been
reading to the ladies the trial of Count Monte-Leone from the _Diario di
Napoli_. This curious story, full of surprises, the noble energy, the
wonderful _sang-froid_ of the Count, the remarks of the journalist on
the character of the prisoner, and the unjust accusation to which he had
been subjected, and which he had so completely refuted, and to which he
had submitted with such nobleness and heroism, all was listened to with
the greatest interest. Maulear had read all this much to his own
dissatisfaction, because Signora Rovero had requested it. The praises of
Monte-Leone were most unpleasant to him.

Aminta heard every word. Every detail of the Count's daring, every
change of character in this judicial drama, awakened an inexplicable
emotion in her. It seemed that Count Monte-Leone, to whose singular
story she had listened, was a far different man from the one she had
imagined him to be. His powerful mind, his exalted soul, all the powers
of which had been developed by the trial, conferred on Monte-Leone new
proportions hitherto not realized by her. Count Monte-Leone, whom she
had seen at home, almost timid in the presence of her he adored, annoyed
by his false position as a refugee, suffering from a passion he dared
not own, was not the person of whom she had heard for the past month.
Looking down on her drawing, which her increasing absence of mind made
almost invisible to her, Aminta sought to recall the features of the
Count which had been nearl