ace, fury
flashed from his eyes, and he cried in a half-choked voice, "Oh! you
abominable scoundrel! You poisonous serpent whom I nourished in my
bosom!" Then old Toricelli, with grave and thoughtful dignity, put
himself in front of Capuzzi, and told him that he (Capuzzi) had seen a
representation of the fate that would inevitably and irremediably
overtake him if he had the hardihood to carry out his wicked purpose
against Antonio and Marianna's peace and happiness. He depicted in
startling colours the folly and madness of amorous old men, who call
down upon their own heads the most ruinous mischief which Heaven can
inflict upon a man, since all the love which might have fallen to their
share is lost, and instead hatred and contempt shoot their fatal darts
at them from every side.

At intervals lovely Marianna cried in a tone that went to everybody's
heart, "O my uncle, I will love and honour you as my own father; you
will kill me by a cruel death if you rob me of my Antonio." And all the
eminent men by whom the old gentleman was surrounded cried with one
accord that it would not be possible for a man like Signor Pasquale
Capuzzi di Senigaglia, a patron of art and himself an artist, not to
forgive the young people, and assume the part of father to the most
lovely of ladies, not possible that he could refuse to accept with joy
as his son-in-law such an artist as Antonio Scacciati, who was highly
esteemed throughout all Italy and richly crowned with fame and honour.

Then it was patent to see that a violent struggle went on within the
old gentleman. He sighed, moaned, clasped his hands before his face,
and, whilst Toricelli was continuing to speak in a most impressive
manner, and Marianna was appealing to him in the most touching accents,
and the rest were extolling Antonio all they knew how, he kept looking
down--now upon his niece, now upon Antonio, whose splendid clothes and
rich chains of honour bore testimony to the truth of what was said
about the artistic fame he had earned.

Gone was all rage out of Capuzzi's countenance; he sprang up with
radiant eyes, and pressed Marianna to his heart, saying, "Yes, I
forgive you, my dear child; I forgive you, Antonio. Far be it from me
to disturb your happiness. You are right, my worthy Signor Toricelli;
Formica has shown me in the tableau on the stage all the mischief and
ruin that would have befallen me had I carried out my insane design. I
am cured, quite cured of my foll