"Do not talk of the marchesa," exclaimed Nobili, as he rapidly
ascended flight after flight of the terraces. "Let me forget her, or I
shall never return to Corellia. Dio Sagrato!" and Nobili clinched his
fist. "The marchesa is the most cursed thing God ever created!"

CHAPTER VII.

THE CLUB AT LUCCA.

The piazza at Lucca is surrounded by four avenues of plane-trees. In
the centre stands the colossal statue of a Bourbon with disheveled
hair, a cornucopia at her feet. Facing the west is the ducal palace,
a spacious modern building, in which the sovereigns of Lucca kept a
splendid court. Here Cesare Trenta had flourished. Opposite the palace
is the Hotel of the Universo, where, as we know, Count Marescotti
lodged at No. 4, on the second story. Midway in the piazza a deep
and narrow street dives into the body of the city--a street of many
colors, with houses red, gray, brown, and tawny, mellowed and tempered
by the hand of Time into rich tints that melt into warm shadows. In
the background rise domes, and towers, and mediaeval church-fronts,
galleried and fretted with arches, pillars, and statues. Here a
golden mosaic blazes in the sun, yonder a brazen San Michele with
outstretched arms rises against the sky; and, scattered up and down,
many a grand old palace-roof uprears its venerable front, with open
pillared belvedere, adorned with ancient frescoes. A dull, sleepy old
city, Lucca, but full of beauty!

On the opposite side of the piazza, behind the plane-trees, stand two
separate buildings, of no particular pretension, other than that both
are of marble. One is the theatre, the other is the club. About the
club there is some attempt at ornamentation. A wide portico, raised
on broad steps, runs along the entire front, supported by Corinthian
columns. Under this portico there are orange-trees in green stands,
rows of chairs, and tables laid with white table-cloths, plates, and
napkins, ready for an _al-fresco_ meal.

It is five o'clock in the afternoon of a splendid day early in
October--the next day, in fact, after the contract was signed at
Corellia. The hour for the drive upon the ramparts at Lucca is not
till six. This, therefore, is the favorite moment for a lounge at the
club. The portico is dotted with black coats and hats. Baldassare lay
asleep between two chairs. He had arranged himself so as not to crease
a pair of new trousers--all'Inglese--not that any Englishman would
have worn such garments-