al to you with confidence."

"I have need of courage," muttered Glencore; "you say truly. What was it
the doctor said this morning,--aneurism?"

Upton moved his head with an inclination barely perceptible.

"What a Nemesis there is in nature," said Glencore, with a sickly
attempt to smile, "that passion should beget malady! I never knew,
physically speaking, that I had a heart--till it was broken. So that,"
resumed he, in a more agreeable tone, "death may ensue at any moment--on
the least excitement?"

"He warned you gravely on that point," said Upton, cautiously.

"How strange that I should have come through that trial of an hour ago!
It was not that the struggle did not move me. I could have torn that
fellow limb from limb, Upton, if I had but the strength! But see," cried
he, feebly, "what a poor wretch I am; I cannot close these fingers!"
and he held out a worn and clammy hand as he spoke. "Do with me as you
will," said he, after a pause; "I ought to have followed your counsels
long ago!"

Upton was too subtle an anatomist of human motives to venture by even
the slightest word to disturb a train of thought which any interference
could only damage. As the other still continued to meditate, and, by
his manner and look, in a calmer and more reflective spirit, the wily
diplomatist moved noiselessly away, and left him alone.

CHAPTER LIII. A MASK IN CARNIVAL TIME

From the gorgeous halls of the Pitti Palace down to the humblest chamber
in Camaldole, Florence was a scene of rejoicing. As night closed in, the
crowds seemed only to increase, and the din and clamor to grow louder.
It seemed as though festivity and joy had overflowed from the houses,
filling the streets with merry-makers. In the clear cold air, groups
feasted, and sang, and danced, all mingling and intermixing with a
freedom that showed how thoroughly the spirit of pleasure-seeking can
annihilate the distinctions of class. The soiled and tattered mummer
leaned over the carriage-door and exchanged compliments with the masked
duchess within. The titled noble of a dozen quarterings stopped to
pledge a merry company who pressed him to drain a glass of Monte
Pulciano with them. There was a perfect fellowship between those whom
fortune had so widely separated, and the polished accents of high
society were heard to blend with the quaint and racy expressions of the
"people."

Theatres and palaces lay open, all lighted "_a giorno_." The whole
population