n, somewhat
discomposed. "Suppose I were desirous to cultivate your acquaintance,
why should you reject my advances?"

"I reject no man's advances," answered Zanoni; "I must know them if they
so desire; but ME, in return, they can never comprehend. If you ask my
acquaintance, it is yours; but I would warn you to shun me."

"And why are you, then, so dangerous?"

"On this earth, men are often, without their own agency, fated to be
dangerous to others. If I were to predict your fortune by the vain
calculations of the astrologer, I should tell you, in their despicable
jargon, that my planet sat darkly in your house of life. Cross me not,
if you can avoid it. I warn you now for the first time and last."

"You despise the astrologers, yet you utter a jargon as mysterious as
theirs. I neither gamble nor quarrel; why, then, should I fear you?"

"As you will; I have done."

"Let me speak frankly,--your conversation last night interested and
perplexed me."

"I know it: minds like yours are attracted by mystery."

Glyndon was piqued at these words, though in the tone in which they were
spoken there was no contempt.

"I see you do not consider me worthy of your friendship. Be it so.
Good-day!"

Zanoni coldly replied to the salutation; and as the Englishman rode on,
returned to his botanical employment.

The same night, Glyndon went, as usual, to the theatre. He was standing
behind the scenes watching Viola, who was on the stage in one of her
most brilliant parts. The house resounded with applause. Glyndon was
transported with a young man's passion and a young man's pride: "This
glorious creature," thought he, "may yet be mine."

He felt, while thus wrapped in delicious reverie, a slight touch upon
his shoulder; he turned, and beheld Zanoni. "You are in danger," said
the latter. "Do not walk home to-night; or if you do, go not alone."

Before Glyndon recovered from his surprise, Zanoni disappeared; and when
the Englishman saw him again, he was in the box of one of the Neapolitan
nobles, where Glyndon could not follow him.

Viola now left the stage, and Glyndon accosted her with an unaccustomed
warmth of gallantry. But Viola, contrary to her gentle habit, turned
with an evident impatience from the address of her lover. Taking aside
Gionetta, who was her constant attendant at the theatre, she said, in an
earnest whisper,--

"Oh, Gionetta! He is here again!--the stranger of whom I spoke to
thee!--and again, he alone