of
poor Adonis, who never clearly understood what he had done to deserve
such severity, now addressed himself to Marescotti--"will you be
visible to-morrow after breakfast? If so, I shall have the honor of
calling on you."

"With pleasure," was the count's reply.

Enrica stood apart. She had not spoken one word since the
disappearance of the sonnet--that sonnet which would have told her
of her future; for had not Marescotti, by some occult power, read
her secret? Alas! too, was she not about to reenter her gloomy home
without catching so much as a glimpse of Nobili? Count Marescotti had
no opportunity of saying a word to Enrica that was not audible to all.
He did venture to ask her if she would be present next evening, if
he joined the marchesa's rubber? Before she could reply, Trenta had
hastily answered for her, that "he would settle all that with the
count when they met in the morning." So, standing in the street,
they parted. Count Marescotti sought in vain for one last glance from
Enrica. When he turned round to look for Baldassare, Baldassare had
disappeared.

CHAPTER IV.

COUNT NOBILI.

When Nobili rushed home through the dark streets from the Countess
Orsetti's ball, he shut himself up in his own particular room, threw
himself on a divan, and tried to collect his thoughts. At first he was
only conscious of one overwhelming feeling--a feeling of intense joy
that Nera Boccarina was alive. The unspeakable horror he had felt, as
she lay stretched out on the floor before him, had stupefied him. If
she had died?--As the horrible question rose up within him, his blood
froze in his veins. But she was not dead--nay, if the report of Madame
Orsetti was to be trusted, she was in no danger of dying.

"Thank God!--thank God!" Then, as the quiet of the night and the
solitude of his own room gradually restored his scattered senses,
Nobili recalled her, not only in the moment of danger, as she lay
death-like, motionless, but as she stood before him lit up by the
rosy shadow of the silken curtains. Was it an enchantment? Had he
been under a spell? Was Nera fiend or angel? As he asked himself these
questions, again her wondrous eyes shone upon him like stars; again
the rhythm of that fatal waltz struck upon his ears soft and liquid
as the fall of oars upon the smooth bosom of an inland lake, bathed in
the mellow light of sunset.

What had he done? He had kissed her--her lips had clung to his; her
fingers had l