ted the count, emphatically, clasping his hands
together, and raising his eyes--"thank God! Forgive me for asking."
His whole voice and manner had changed as rapidly as his aspect. There
was a sense of suffering, a quiet resignation about him, so utterly
unlike his usual excitable manner that Trenta was puzzled beyond
expression--so puzzled, indeed, that he was speechless. Besides, a
veteran in etiquette, he felt that it was to himself an explanation
was due. Marescotti had been about to send for him. Now he was there,
Marescotti had heard his proposal, it was for Marescotti to answer.

That the count felt this also was apparent. There was something solemn
in his manner as he turned away from the window and slowly advanced
toward the cavaliere. Trenta was still standing immovable on the same
spot where he had muttered in the first moment of amazement, "He is
mad!"

"My dear old friend," said the count, speaking with evident effort in
a dull, sad voice, "there is some mistake. It was not to speak about
any lady that I was about to send for you."

"Not about a lady!" cried Trenta, aghast. "Mercy of God!--"

"Let that pass," interrupted the count, waving his hand. "You have
asked me for an explanation--an explanation you shall have." He sighed
deeply, then proceeded--the cavaliere following every word he uttered
with open mouth and wildly-staring eyes: "Of the lady I can say no
more than that, on my honor as a gentleman, to me she approaches
nearer the divine than any woman I have ever seen--nay, than any woman
I have ever dreamed of."

A flash of fire lit up the depths of the count's dark eyes, and there
was a tone of melting tenderness in his rich voice as he spoke of
Enrica. Then he relapsed into his former weary manner--the manner of a
man pronouncing his own death-warrant.

"Of the unspeakable honor you have done me, as has also the excellent
Marchesa Guinigi--it does not become me to speak. Believe me, I feel
it profoundly." And the count laid his hand upon his heart and bent
his grand head. Trenta, with formal politeness, returned the silent
salute.

"But"--and here the count's voice faltered, and there was a dimness
in his eyes, round which the black circles had deepened--"but it is an
honor I must decline."

Trenta, still rooted to the same spot, listened to each word that fell
from the count's lips with a look of anguish.

"Sit down, cavaliere--sit down," continued Marescotti, seeing his
distress. He