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Updated: June 29, 2025
"Let Fra Pacifico mind his own business," was the marchesa's answer. "Nobili saved Enrica's life last night; that cannot be denied." "Yes last night, last night; and I am to be forced and fettered because I set myself on fire! I wish I had perished, and Enrica too!" A gesture of horror from the cavaliere recalled the marchesa to a sense of what she had uttered.
At a touch of his strong hand the letter fell from Enrica's fingers, though they clung to it convulsively. "Of course we must see the letter," the cavaliere responded with emphasis, waking up from the apathy of grief into which he had been plunged.
Then he drew a chair opposite to her, sat down, heaved a deep sigh, and raised his eyes to her face. The marchesa had not moved. She did not move now, but sat the picture of hard, haughty despair a despair that would gnaw body and soul, yet give no sigh. But the cavaliere was now too much absorbed by Enrica's sufferings to affect even to take much heed of the marchesa.
"Oh! my beloved!" he cries, in a voice that penetrates her very soul. "Come to me here to a heart all your own!" He springs forward and clasps her in his arms. "Thus thus let the past perish!" Nobili whispers as his lips touch hers. Enrica's head nestles upon his breast. She has once more found her home. A subdued knock is heard at the door.
Curses on them!" mumbles Carlotta. "And what did Nobili do?" asks Brigitta. "Do? Why, seeing no one, he came across and kissed Enrica's hand; I saw it. He made as if he would have knelt upon the stones, only she would not let him. Then they whispered for, as near as I can guess, half an hour Teresa standing apart. There was the sound of a cart then coming along the street, and presto!
"Dear Pipa, we will look in the box, as you say." "But when, signorina?" insists Pipa, and she kisses Enrica's hand, and strokes her dress. "But when?" "To-morrow," says Enrica, absently. "To-morrow, dear Pipa, not to-day." "Holy mother!" is Pipa's reply, "it has been 'to-morrow' for four days."
"If she had been my child!" was the marchesa's thought. "Why was I denied a child?" And she sighed. The rays of the setting sun dance among the ripples of Enrica's blond hair, and light up the dazzling whiteness of her skin.
"Mario Nobili, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife?" sternly repeated Fra Pacifico, fixing his dark eyes upon him. "I will," answered Nobili. Whatever his feelings were, Nobili had mastered them. For an instant Nobili's eye met Enrica's. He turned hastily away. Enrica sighed. Whatever hopes had buoyed her up were gone. Nobili had turned away from her!
Enrica's eyes wandered over the address, "To the Noble Signorina Enrica Guinigi, Corellia," as if each word had been some wonder. She dwelt upon every crooked line and twist, each tail and flourish, that Nobili's hand had traced. She pressed the letter to her lips, then laid it upon her lap and gazed at it, eking out every second of suspense to its utmost limit.
Again Nobili wound his arms round Enrica and drew her to him with passionate ardor. The thought of Count Marescotti had faded out like a bad dream at daylight. Enrica's blue eyes dimmed with tears. "Oh, do not weep, Enrica!" he cried. "Let the past go, love. Did the marchesa think that bolts and bars, and Adamo, and watch-dogs, would keep Nobili from you?" He gave a merry laugh.
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