he had imagined her, the
type of the young Madonna, was before him. No, Enrica could never be
his; no child of his would ever be encircled by those soft, womanly
arms! With a strong effort to shake off the feeling which so deeply
moved him, the count continued:

"In the boundless realms of ideal philosophy"--his noble features were
at this moment lit up into the living image of that hero he so much
resembled--"man grapples hand to hand with the unseen. There are no
limits to his glorious aspirations. He is as God himself. He, too,
becomes a Creator; and a new and purer world forms beneath his hand."

"Have you done?" asked Trenta, looking up out of the arm-chair. He was
so thoroughly overcome, so subdued, he could have wept. From the very
commencement of the count's explanation, he had felt that it was not
given to him to combat his opinions. If he could, he was not sure that
he would have ventured to do so. "Let pitch alone," says the proverb.

Now Trenta, of a most cleanly nature, morally and physically--abhorred
pitch, especially such pitch as this. He had long looked upon Count
Marescotti as an atheist, a visionary--but he had never conceived
him capable of establishing an organized system of rebellion and
communism. At Lucca, too! It was horrible! By some means such
an incendiary must be got rid of. Next to the foul Fiend himself
established in the city, he could conceive nothing more awful! It was
a Providence that Marescotti could not marry Enrica! He should tell
the marchesa so. Such sophistry might have perverted Enrica also. It
was more than probable that, instead of reforming him, she might have
fallen a victim to his wickedness. This reflection was infinitely
comforting to the much-enduring cavaliere. It lightened also much of
his apprehension in approaching the marchesa, as the bearer of the
count's refusal.

To Trenta's question as to "whether he had done," Marescotti had
promptly replied with easy courtesy, "Certainly, if you desire it.
But, my dear cavaliere," he went on to say, speaking in his usual
manner, "you will now understand why, cost me what it may, I cannot
marry. Never, never, I confess, have I been so fiercely tempted! But
the pang is past!" And he swept his hand over his brow. "Marriage with
me is impossible. You will understand this."

"Yes, yes, I quite agree with you, count," put in Trenta--sideways, as
it were. He was rejoiced to find he had any common standing-point left
with Ma