age of
her head and neck, there was the same indomitable pride, courage, and
energy, as before. A paper lay on the ground near her; it was Nobili's
letter. Fra Pacifico sat opposite to her. He was speaking. His
deep-set luminous eyes were fixed on the marchesa. His straight,
coarse hair was pushed up erect upon his brow; there was at all times
something of a mane about it. His cassock sat loosely about his big,
well-made limbs; his priestly stock was loosed, showing the dark skin
of his throat and chin. In the turn of his eye, in the expression of
his countenance, there were anxiety, restlessness, and distrust.

"Yes--Enrica has recovered for the present," he was saying, "but such
an attack saps and weakens the very issues of life. Count Nobili, if
not brought to reason, would break her heart." She was obstinately
silent. The balance of her mind was partially upset. "'I shall never
see Nobili again,' was all she would say to me. It is a pity, I think,
that you sent the cavaliere away to Lucca. Enrica might have opened
her mind to him."

As he spoke, Fra Pacifico crossed one of his legs over the other, and
arranged the heavy folds of his cassock over his knees.

"And who says Enrica shall not see Nobili again?" asked the marchesa,
defiantly. "Holy saints! That is my affair. I want no advice. My honor
is now as much concerned in the completion of this marriage as it was
before to prevent it. The contract has been signed in my presence.
The money agreed upon has been paid over to me. The marriage must take
place. I have sent Trenta to Lucca to make preliminary arrangements."

"I rejoice to hear it," answered Fra Pacifico, his countenance
brightening. "There must be some extraordinary mistake. The cavaliere
will explain it. Some enemies of your family must have misled Count
Nobili, especially as there was a certain appearance of concealment
respecting Count Marescotti. It will all come right. I only feared
lest the language of that letter would have, in your opinion, rendered
the marriage impossible."

"That letter does not move me in the least," answered the marchesa
haughtily, speaking out of the shadow. She gave the letter a kick,
sending it farther from her. "I care neither for praise nor insult
from such a fellow. He is but an instrument in my hand. He has,
however, justified my bad opinion of him. I am glad of that. Do you
imagine, my father," she added, leaning forward, and bringing her head
for an instant with