be rid of the marchesa?"

Nobili's aspect is becoming menacing. Maestro Guglielmi is not a man
easily daunted; yet once within the room, and the desired evidence
obtained, he cannot but feel all the awkwardness of his position.
Greatly as Guglielmi had been tickled at the notion of becoming
himself a witness in his own case, to do him justice he would not have
volunteered it.

"The marchesa sent me," he stammers, conscious of Count Nobili's
indignation (with his arms crossed, Count Nobili is eying Guglielmi
from head to foot). "The marchesa sent me to know--"

Nobili unfolds his arms, walks straight up to where Guglielmi is
standing, and shakes his fist in his face.

"Do you know, Signore Avvocato, that you are committing an intolerable
impertinence? If you do not instantly quit this room, or give me
some excellent reason for remaining, you shall very speedily have my
opinion of your conduct in a very decided manner."

Count Nobili is decidedly dangerous. He glares at Guglielmi like a
very devil. Guglielmi falls back. The false smile is upon his lips,
but his treacherous eyes express his terror. Guglielmi's combats are
only with words, his weapon the pen; otherwise he is powerless.

"Excuse me, Count Nobili, excuse me," he stammers. He rubs his hands
nervously together and watches Nobili, who is following him step by
step. "It is not my fault--I give you my word--not my fault. Don't
look so, count; you really alarm me. I am here as a man of peace--I
entreated the marchesa to retire to rest. I represented to her the
peculiar delicacy of the position, but I grieve to say she insisted."

Nobili is now close to him; his eyes are gathered upon him more
threateningly than ever.

"Remember, sir, you are addressing me in the presence of my wife--be
careful."

What a withering look Nobili gives Guglielmi as he says this! He can
with difficulty keep his hands off him!

"Yes--yes--just so--just so--I applaud your sentiments, Count
Nobili--most appropriate. Now I will go."

Alarmed as he is, Guglielmi cannot resist one parting glance at
Enrica. She is crimson. Then with an expression of infinite relief
he retreats to the door walking backward. Guglielmi has a strong
conviction that if he turns round Count Nobili may kick him, so,
keeping his eyes well balanced upon him, he fumbles with his hands
behind his back to find the handle of the door. In his confusion he
misses it.

"Not for worlds, Signore Conte," says Gug