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Pure and lofty as he thought himself, it was her birth and her wealth which Cesarini adored in Florence. And Florence Lascelles, when the crowd had dispersed and she sought her chamber, forgot all three; and with that morbid romance often peculiar to those for whom Fate smiles the most, mused over the ideal image of the one she /could/ love "in maiden meditation /not/ fancy-free!"
It was then that Cesarini drew from under his pillow a long-cherished and carefully-concealed treasure. Oh, with what rapture had he first possessed himself of it! with what anxiety had it been watched and guarded! how many cunning stratagems and profound inventions had gone towards the baffling, the jealous search of the keeper and his myrmidons!
She wept for the fate of Florence; she shuddered at the curse that had fallen on Cesarini; and perhaps Maltravers grew dearer to her from the thought that there was so much in the memories of the past that needed a comforter and a soother.
"O, Lady Florence, dear too dear yet, would that alas! she does not listen to me," muttered Castruccio, as Florence, pressing her hands to her temples, walked wildly to and fro the room. At length she paused opposite to Cesarini, looked him full in the face, returned him the letter without a word, and pointed to the door.
Wan, haggard, almost spectral, his hat over his brows, his dress neglected, his air reckless and fierce, Cesarini crossed the way, and thus accosted Lumley: "We have murdered her, Ferrers; and her ghost will haunt us to our dying day!" "Talk prose; you know I am no poet. What do you mean?" "She is worse to-day," groaned Cesarini, in a hollow voice.
If so, it is worth thinking about; if not, it is a mockery your shot misses, his goes in the air, seconds interpose, and you both walk away devilish glad to get off so well. Duels are humbug." "Mr. Ferrers," said Cesarini, fiercely, "this is not a matter of jest."
Cesarini refreshed and rested himself an hour or two at the farm, and then resumed his wanderings; he offered no money, for the rules of the asylum forbade money to its inmates, he had none with him; but none was expected from him, and they bade him farewell as kindly as if he had bought their blessings.
Cesarini sneered and shrugged his shoulders; it was quite evident that the two authors had no sympathy with each other. They arrived at last at the chapel, and with some difficulty procured seats. Presently the service began.
Vannozza had borne her husband, a certain Giorgio di Croce, a son, who was named Octavian at least this child passed as his. With the cardinal's help she increased her revenues; in old official records she appears as the lessee of several taverns in Rome, and she also bought a vineyard and a country house near S. Lucia in Selci in the Subura, apparently from the Cesarini.
IT was just twelve months after his last interview with Valerie, and Madame de Ventadour had long since quitted England, when one morning, as Maltravers sat alone in his study, Castruccio Cesarini was announced. "Ah, my dear Castruccio, how are you?" cried Maltravers, eagerly, as the opening door presented the form of the Italian. "What tone is this, Castruccio; and what debt do you speak of?"
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