Leghorn. But she said nothing of
Fernand Wagner: nor did she inform the physician that she was acquainted
with the cause of Francisco's disappearance and the place where he was
detained. At length Dr. Duras took his leave; but ere he left the room
Nisida caught him by the hand, saying, in a low, yet impressive
tone--"Remember your solemn promise, my dear friend, and induce your
brother to leave Flora Francatelli to her fate."

"I will--I will," answered the physician. "And after all you have told
me, and if she be really the bad, profligate, and evil-disposed girl you
represent her, it will be well that the inquisition should hold her
tight in its grasp."

With these words Dr. Duras departed, leaving Nisida to gloat over the
success which her plans had thus far experienced.

CHAPTER LX.

It was verging toward midnight, and the moon was concealed behind dark
clouds, when a tall figure, muffled in a cloak, climbed over the railing
which inclosed one portion of the spacious garden attached to the
Riverola Palace. That person was Fernand Wagner. He had arrived in
Florence two days before that on which Nisida returned to the ancestral
dwelling:--he had entered the city boldly and openly in the joyous
sun-light--and yet no one molested him. He even encountered some of the
very sbirri who had arrested him in the preceding month of February;
they saluted him respectfully--thus showed that they recognized him--but
offered not to harm him. His trial, his condemnation, and his escape
appeared all to have been forgotten. He repaired to his mansion; his
servants, who had remained in possession of the dwelling, received him
with demonstrations of joy and welcome as if he had just returned under
ordinary circumstances from a long journey. Truly, then, he was blessed
by the protection of Heaven. And--more wondrous still--on entering his
favorite room he beheld all his pictures in their proper places, as if
none of them had ever been removed--as if the confiscation of several by
the criminal tribunal had never taken place. Over the one which had
proclaimed the secret of his doom to the judges and the audience on the
occasion of his trial, still hung the black cloth; and an undefinable
curiosity--no, not a sentiment of curiosity, but one of hope--impelled
him to remove the covering. And how exquisite was his joy, how great his
amazement, how sincere his thanksgivings, when he beheld but a blank
piece of canvas. The horrible p