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Maestro Guglielmi also informed the secretary, by my order, that, in default of his Count Nobili's appearance, a detailed account of the whole transaction with my niece, and of other transactions touching Count Nobili's father, known to me of which I have informed Maestro Guglielmi would be published upon my authority in every newspaper in all the cities throughout Italy, with such explanations and particulars as I might see fit to insert.
"With your permission," said the lawyer, with a low bow, accosting Nobili, "I hope to convince you how much you have wronged me by your accusation." "What accusation?" demanded the count, drawing back toward the window. "I do not understand you." Guglielmi was the marchesa's adviser; Count Nobili hated him.
"Sangue di Dio!" mutters Nobili, disengaging himself from Enrica "what new torment is this? Is there no peace in this house? Who is there?" "It is I, Count Nobili." Maestro Guglielmi puts in his hatchet face and glaring teeth. In an instant his piercing eyes have traveled round the room.
Was he Guglielmi who had flashed his sword in a thousand battles, to be worsted by a stubborn boy? Outwitted by a capricious lover? Never! "Excuse me, Count Nobili," he said, overmastering himself by a violent effort "it is a bitter pang to me, your devoted friend, to be asked to become a party to an act fatal to your prospects.
"If Count Nobili remains the night in company with his bride, we shall have no difficulty about the civil marriage to-morrow. Count Nobili will not object then. Not likely." The lawyer gave a harsh, cynical laugh that grated offensively upon the priest's ear. Fra Pacifico began to think Maestro Guglielmi intolerable. "That is your affair.
Live with her? by God! never!" The pent-up wrath within him, the maddening sense of wrong, blaze out. Count Nobili is now striding up and down the room insensible to any thing for the moment but the consciousness of his own outraged feelings. As Count Nobili waxed furious, Maestro Guglielmi grew calm. His busy brain was concocting all sorts of expedients. He leaned his chin upon his hands.
They vanish. Nothing then remains but masses of leaden clouds soon to darken into night. On entering the room, Count Nobili takes a long breath, gazes for a moment on the mountains that rise before him, then turns toward the door, awaiting the arrival of Guglielmi. His restless eye, his shifting color, betray his agitation. The ordeal is not yet over; he must hear what this man has to say.
The marriage about to take place was to the marchesa the resurrection of the Guinigi name. To Fra Pacifico it was the possible rescue of Enrica from a life of suffering, perhaps an early death. To Guglielmi it was the triumph of the keen lawyer, who had tracked and pursued his prey until that prey had yielded. The only person not outwardly affected was the marchesa.
That she might continue her studies uninterruptedly, she was sent to Bologna, to her uncle, Colonel Ragani, husband of Grassini, by whom she was put under the care of the learned Giacomo Guglielmi, son of the celebrated composer, who during three years devoted himself entirely to her musical education.
If by this means the civil marriage can be brought about, Guglielmi will have clinched a doubtful act into a legal certainty. "A moment, Signore Avvocato " and Nobili is following Guglielmi to the door, consternation and amazement depicted upon his countenance, "Is this indeed so?" Nobili's manner indicates suspicion. "Absolutely so," answers the mendacious one.
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