ate which would inevitably overtake him if he dared to
prosecute his evil design against the peace and happiness of Antonio
and Marianna. He painted, in the most brilliant colours, the folly--the
madness--of amorous old age yielding to love, which has the power of
bringing down upon its head the most destroying evil with which Heaven
can threaten man, since it annihilates all the affection which
might still be his portion, whilst hatred and contempt aim their
death-dealing arrows at him from every side.

And Marianna cried out, in a tone which penetrated the heart: "Oh, my
uncle! I want to love and honour you as a father! You will bring me to
the bitter death if you take Antonio from me!"

And all the poets who were surrounding the old man cried, with one
voice, that it was impossible that such an one as Signor Pasquale
Capuzzi di Senegaglia--a lover and patron of the arts, himself an
admirable and accomplished artist--should not forgive; that he, who
occupied the position of a father to the loveliest of women, should not
welcome with joy, as a son-in-law, a painter such as Antonio Scacciati,
prized by the whole of Italy, overwhelmed with honour and fame.

It was easy to see that a mental process of some kind was going on
within the old man. He sighed; he groaned; he hid his face in his
hands, whilst Torricelli plied him with the most convincing arguments;
whilst Marianna implored him, in the most moving accents; whilst the
others extolled and belauded Antonio Scacciati to the utmost of their
skill. The old man looked, now at his niece, now at Antonio, whose fine
dress and rich chain of honour proved the truth of what was urged as to
his artistic position and success.

All anger had disappeared from Capuzzi's countenance. He sprung up with
beaming glances, pressed Marianna to his heart, and cried: "Yes, I
forgive you, my beloved child! I forgive you, Antonio! Far be it from
mo to destroy your happiness. You are right, my worthy Signor
Torricelli. Signor Formica has shown me, in a figure, on the stage, all
the misery and destruction which would have come upon me if I had
carried out my insane idea. I am cured--completely cured--of my folly.
But where is Signor Formica?--where is my worthy physician, that I may
thank him a thousand times for my recovery, which he has brought about.
The terror which he knew how to cause me has transformed my whole
being."

Pasquarello came forward. Antonio threw himself upon his breas