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Updated: June 17, 2025
The last-named, prone to the direct methods of murder by which he had rid Bologna of the Marescotti, is said to have declared that he would kill Cesare Borgia if he but had the opportunity, whilst Vitelli swore solemnly that within a year he would slay or capture the duke, or else drive him out of Italy.
He led his companions to the chamber where the Marescotti were confined, and there, more or less in cold blood, those four gentlemen were murdered for no better reason ostensibly than because it was suspected they had been in communication with their relatives in the Duke of Valentinois's army.
At first she was so stunned she forgot his name; then it came to her. Yes, the poet Marescotti Trenta's friend who had raved on the Guinigi Tower. What was he to her? Marry Marescotti! Oh! who could have said it? Gradually, as Enrica's mind became clearer, lying there so still with no sound but Pipa's measured breathing, she felt to its full extent how Nobili had wronged her.
He avowed that he was deeply enamored of Enrica a man in love is already half vanquished. Why should Marescotti throw away his chance of happiness for a phantasy a mere dream? There was no real obstacle. He was versatile and visionary, but the very soul of honor.
"The humiliation involved in the confession that my niece is almost portionless." The words seemed to choke her. "She will inherit all I have to leave," and she glanced significantly at the cavaliere; "but that is you understand me? uncertain." "Bagatella! that will be all right," he rejoined, with alacrity. "The idea of money will not sway Marescotti in the least. He is wealthy a fine fellow.
As she gave him no answer, he asked another question, gazing down upon her earnestly: "How did Count Marescotti come to know what your eyes said?" As Nobili spoke, his voice sounded changed. He waited for an answer with a look as if he had been wronged. Enrica's answer did not come immediately. She felt frightened. "Oh! why," she thought, "had she mentioned Marescotti's name?"
"Count Marescotti," she said, absently, as giving utterance to a passing thought "Count Marescotti told me, only a week ago, that I was born to be unhappy. He said he read it in my eyes. I believed him then not now not now." Why, she could not have explained, but, as the count's name passed her lips, Enrica was sorry she had mentioned it. Nobili noted this.
"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.
Also, that Count Marescotti refused to marry you when you were offered by the Marchesa Guinigi. From this knowledge I cannot screen you. God is my witness, I go, not desiring by my presence or my words to reproach you further. But, as a man who prizes the honor of his house and home, I cannot marry you. Tell the marchesa I shall keep my word to her, although I break the marriage-contract.
No lamentation could bring the paper back again. The sonnet was gone. Marescotti had sacrificed the man to the poet. His artistic sense had conquered. "Excuse me, dear signorina," he pleaded, "the composition was imperfect. It was too hurried. With your permission, on my return, I will address some other verses to you, more appropriate more polished." "Ah! they will not be like those.
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