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Remember there is nothing proved. Be careful," Orsetti whispered in the other's ear, glancing round. Every eye was riveted on Nobili. Orsetti felt that Nobili had forgotten the public place and the others present such as Count Malatesta, Orazio Franchi, and Baldassare, who, though they had not spoken, had devoured every word. "It is nothing but a sonnet found among Marescotti's papers."
Malatesta gave a low whistle. "Enrica Guinigi! Is not that the marchesa's niece?" asked Orsetti; "a pretty, fair-faced girl I see driving with her aunt on the ramparts sometimes?" "The same," answered Malatesta. "But what, in the name of all the devils, could Marescotti know of her? No one has ever spoken to her."
"Then I am satisfied," replied Ruspoli, quiet defiance in his look and tone. "I accuse you, Signore Orazio Franchi, of nothing. I only warn you." "I don't see why we should quarrel about Nobili's marriage. He will be here himself presently, to explain which of the ladies he prefers," observed the peaceable Orsetti. "I don't know which lady Count Nobili prefers," retorted Ruspoli, doggedly.
The Madonna figured prominently in Marescotti's creed, spite of his belief in the stern precepts of Savonarola the plastic creed of an artist, made up of heavenly eyes, ravishing forms, melodious sounds, rich color, sweeping rhythms, moonlight, and violent emotions. "I was not there myself no, or I should have been aware you had not honored the Countess Orsetti with your presence.
Nobili has not moved, but, as each speaks, his eye shifts rapidly from one to the other. His face from pale grows livid, and there is a throb about his temples that sounds in his ears like a thousand hammers. "Orsetti," Nobili says, sternly, "I address myself to you. You are the oldest here. You are the first man I knew after I came to Lucca. You are all concealing something from me.
She had twitted her with wanting to go to the Orsetti ball, although Enrica had never been to any ball or any assembly whatever in her life, and no word had been spoken about it. Enrica never did speak; she had been disciplined into silence. Enrica, as has been said, was the marchesa's niece, and lived with her. She was the only child of her sister, who died when she was born.
"Who is Marescotti?" "This is some horrid fiction," Nobili mutters to himself. Stay! Where had he heard that name lately? He gnawed his fingers until the blood came, and a crimson drop fell upon the marble floor. Suddenly an icy chill rose at his heart. He could not breathe. He sank into a chair then rose again, and stood before Orsetti with a face out of which ten years of youth had fled.
From that quicker than I can write it his thoughts traveled backward to that night when he had danced with Nera at the Orsetti ball. Again the refrain of that waltz buzzed in his ear.
No one objected, least of all the husband, who worshiped at the shrine of the blooming Bernardini when she quarreled with Civilla. A lady of fashion has a choice of lovers, as she has a choice of dresses for all emergencies. "But how about these new figures?" asked Orsetti. "Per Bacco hear the music!" cried Malatesta. "What a delicious waltz! I want to dance. Let's settle it at once.
Orsetti rushes off to the next room, where Teresa Ottolini is waiting for him, with a look of gentle reproach in her sleepy eyes, where lies the hidden fire. Meanwhile Cavaliere Trenta's white head, immaculate blue coat and gold buttons to which coat were attached several orders had been seen hovering about from chair to chair through the rooms.
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