elled by stronger forces than
my own--in all things precise, in all things inflexible.

Within the week of my return from Avellino my coming marriage with the
Countess Romani was announced. Two days after it had been made public,
while sauntering across the Largo del Castello, I met the Marquis
D'Avencourt. I had not seen him since the morning of the duel, and his
presence gave me a sort of nervous shock. He was exceedingly cordial,
though I fancied he was also slightly embarrassed After a few
commonplace remarks he said, abruptly:

"So your marriage will positively take place?"

I forced a laugh.

"Ma! certamente! Do you doubt it?"

His handsome face clouded and his manner grew still more constrained.

"No; but I thought--I had hoped--"

"Mon cher," I said, airily, "I perfectly understand to what you allude.
But we men of the world are not fastidious--we know better than to pay
any heed to the foolish love-fancies of a woman before her marriage, so
long as she does not trick us afterward. The letters you sent me were
trifles, mere trifles! In wedding the Contessa Romani I assure you I
believe I secure the most virtuous as well as the most lovely woman in
Europe!" And I laughed again heartily.

D'Avencourt looked puzzled; but he was a punctilious man, and knew how
to steer clear of a delicate subject. He smiled.

"A la bonne heure," he said--"I wish you joy with all my heart! You are
the best judge of your own happiness; as for me--vive la liberte!"

And with a gay parting salute he left me. No one else in the city
appeared to share his foreboding scruples, if he had any, about my
forthcoming marriage. It was everywhere talked of with as much interest
and expectation as though it were some new amusement invented to
heighten the merriment of carnival. Among other things, I earned the
reputation of being a most impatient lover, for now I would consent to
no delays. I hurried all the preparations on with feverish
precipitation. I had very little difficulty in persuading Nina that the
sooner our wedding took place the better; she was to the full as eager
as myself, as ready to rush on her own destruction as Guido had been.
Her chief passion was avarice, and the repeated rumors of my supposed
fabulous wealth had aroused her greed from the very moment she had
first met me in my assumed character of the Count Oliva. As soon as her
engagement to me became known in Naples, she was an object of envy to
all those of he