dare to avow it in my presence,
degraded girl! have you no pride--no decency?"

"I have done nothing," Enrica answers in the same voice, "of which
I am ashamed. From the first moment I saw him I loved him. I
loved--him--oh! how I loved him!" She repeats this softly, as if
speaking to herself. An inner light shines over her whole countenance.
"And Nobili loves me. I know it." Her voice sounds sweet and firm. "He
is mine!"

"Fool, you think so; you are but one of many!" The marchesa, incensed
beyond endurance at her firmness, raises her head with the action of
a snake about to spring upon its prey. "Dare you deny that you are his
mistress?"

(Could the marchesa have seen the cavaliere standing behind her, at
that moment, and how those eyes of his were riveted on Enrica with a
look in which hope, thankfulness, pity, and joy, crossed and combated
together--mercy on us! she would have turned and struck him!)

The shock of the words overcame Enrica. She fixes her eyes on her aunt
as if not understanding their meaning. Then a deep blush covers her
from head to foot; she trembles and presses both her hands to her
bosom as if in pain.

"Spare her, spare her!" is heard in less audible sounds from Trenta to
the marchesa. The marchesa tosses her head defiantly.

"I am to be Count Nobili's wife," Enrica says at last, in a faltering
voice. "The Holy Mother is my witness, I have done nothing wrong. I
have met him in the cathedral, and at the door of the Moorish garden.
He has written to me, and I have answered."

"Doubtless; and you have met him alone?" asked the marchesa, with a
savage sneer.

"Never, my aunt; Teresa was always with me."

"Teresa, curse her! She shall leave the house as naked as she came
into it. How many other of my servants did you corrupt?"

"Not one; it was known to her and to me only."

"And why not to me, your guardian? why not to me?" And the marchesa
advances step by step toward Enrica, as the bitter consciousness of
having been hoodwinked by such a child fills her with fresh rage. "You
have deceived me--I who have fed and clothed and nourished you--I who,
but for this, would have endowed you with all I have, bequeathed to
you a name greater than that of kings! Answer me this, Enrica. Leave
off wringing your hands and turning up your eyes. Answer me!"

"My aunt, I was afraid."

"Afraid!" and the marchesa laughs a loud and scornful laugh; "you were
not, afraid to meet this man in secret."