She cannot compromise me,
or my name."

"Enrica has compromised both," cried Trenta, roused at last from
his paroxysm of grief. "Enrica has more than compromised it; she
has compromised all the Guinigi that ever lived--you, the palace,
herself--every one. Enrica has a lover!" The marchesa bounded from her
chair; her face turned livid in the waning light.

"Who told you this?" she asked, in a strange, hollow voice, without
turning her eyes or moving a muscle of her face.

"Count Marescotti," answered Trenta, meekly.

He positively cowered beneath the pent-up wrath of the marchesa.

"Who is the man?"

"Nobili."

"What!--Count Nobili?"

"Yes, Count Nobili."

With a great effort she commanded herself, and continued interrogating
Trenta.

"How did Marescotti hear it?"

"From common report. It is known all over Lucca."

"Was this the reason that Count Marescotti declined to marry my
niece?"

The marchesa spoke in the same strange tone, but she fixed her eyes
savagely on Trenta, so as to be able to convince herself how far he
might dare to equivocate.

"That was a principal reason," replied the cavaliere, in a faltering
voice; "but there were others."

"What are the others to me? The dishonor of my niece is sufficient."

There was a desperate composure about the marchesa, more terrible than
passion.

"Her dishonor! God and all the saints forbid!" retorted Trenta,
clasping his hands. "Marescotti did not speak of dishonor."

"But I speak of dishonor!" shrieked the marchesa, and the pent-up
rage within her flashed out over her face like a tongue of fire.
"Dishonor!--the vilest, basest dishonor! What do I care "--and she
stamped her foot loudly on the brick floor--"what do I care what
Nobili has done to her? By that one fact of loving him she has soiled
this sacred roof." The marchesa's eyes wandered wildly round the room.
"She has soiled the name I bear. I will cast her forth into the street
to beg--to starve!"

And as the words fell from her lips she stretched out her long arm and
bony finger as in a withering curse.

"But, ha! ha!"--and her terrible voice echoed through the empty
room--"I forgot. Count Nobili loves her; he will keep her--in luxury,
too--and in a Guinigi palace!" She hissed out these last words. "She
has learned her way there already. Let her go--go instantly," the
marchesa's hand was on the bell. "Let her go, the soft-voiced viper!"

The transport of fury which possessed the march