only, I permit to share in our
escape?"

"Ha, well thought of!--certainly!"

"I will then appear to yield to Fillide's wishes, and resign the
project, which she so resents, of saving the innocent object of her
frantic jealousy. You, meanwhile, shall yourself entreat Fillide to
intercede with me to extend the means of escape to--"

"To a lady (she knows I have no sister) who has aided me in my distress.
Yes, I will manage all, never fear. One word more,--what has become of
that Zanoni?"

"Talk not of him,--I know not."

"Does he love this girl still?"

"It would seem so. She is his wife, the mother of his infant, who is
with her."

"Wife!--mother! He loves her. Aha! And why--"

"No questions now. I will go and prepare Viola for the flight; you,
meanwhile, return to Fillide."

"But the address of the Neapolitan? It is necessary I should know, lest
Fillide inquire."

"Rue M-- T--, No. 27. Adieu."

Glyndon seized his hat and hastened from the house.

Nicot, left alone, seemed for a few moments buried in thought. "Oho," he
muttered to himself, "can I not turn all this to my account? Can I not
avenge myself on thee, Zanoni, as I have so often sworn,--through thy
wife and child? Can I not possess myself of thy gold, thy passports,
and thy Fillide, hot Englishman, who wouldst humble me with thy loathed
benefits, and who hast chucked me thine alms as to a beggar? And
Fillide, I love her: and thy gold, I love THAT more! Puppets, I move
your strings!"

He passed slowly into the chamber where Fillide yet sat, with gloomy
thought on her brow and tears standing in her dark eyes. She looked up
eagerly as the door opened, and turned from the rugged face of Nicot
with an impatient movement of disappointment.

"Glyndon," said the painter, drawing a chair to Fillide's, "has left me
to enliven your solitude, fair Italian. He is not jealous of the ugly
Nicot!--ha, ha!--yet Nicot loved thee well once, when his fortunes were
more fair. But enough of such past follies."

"Your friend, then, has left the house. Whither? Ah, you look away;
you falter,--you cannot meet my eyes! Speak! I implore, I command thee,
speak!"

"Enfant! And what dost thou fear?"

"FEAR!--yes, alas, I fear!" said the Italian; and her whole frame seemed
to shrink into itself as she fell once more back into her seat.

Then, after a pause, she tossed the long hair from her eyes, and,
starting up abruptly, paced the room with disordered strides. At l