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Updated: June 17, 2025
"Count" and the old chamberlain, utterly disregarding the dismay of poor Adonis, who never clearly understood what he had done to deserve such severity, now addressed himself to Marescotti "will you be visible to-morrow after breakfast? If so, I shall have the honor of calling on you." "With pleasure," was the count's reply. Enrica stood apart.
Excited by the grandeur of the service, Marescotti's usually pale face is suffused with color; his large black eyes shine with inner lights. Looking neither to the right nor to the left, he walks through the atrium, straight down the marble steps, into the piazza. As he passes the three women they draw back against the wall. There is a dignity about Marescotti that involuntarily awes them.
"If that weathercock of a thousand colors, that idiot, Marescotti," muttered the cavaliere, as he descended the stairs, "could only be got to give up his impious mission, and marry the dear child, all might yet be right. He has an eye and a tongue that would charm a woman into anything.
Why did you break it?" Trenta's shrill voice had risen into a kind of wail. "Do you mean to doubt what I told you at Lucca? I swear to you that Enrica never knew that she was offered in marriage to Count Marescotti I swear it! I did it it was my fault. I persuaded the marchesa. It was I. Enrica and Count Marescotti never met but in my presence. And you revenge yourself on her?
"Ah! lovely indeed, in mind as well as body," he adds, half aloud. "This is a privilege you, Count Marescotti, can appreciate above all other men. That you do appreciate it you have already made evident. There is no need for me to speak about Enrica herself; you have already judged her. You have, before my eyes, approached her with the looks and the language of passionate admiration.
I request that, in my presence, you speak with becoming respect of this holy man." "Per Bacco!" exclaimed the cavaliere, advancing from where he had been standing behind the marchesa's chair, and patting Baldassare patronizingly on the shoulder, "I never heard you talk so much before at one time, Baldassare. Now, you had better have held your tongue, and listened to Count Marescotti.
She had not spoken one word since the disappearance of the sonnet that sonnet which would have told her of her future; for had not Marescotti, by some occult power, read her secret? Alas! too, was she not about to reenter her gloomy home without catching so much as a glimpse of Nobili? Count Marescotti had no opportunity of saying a word to Enrica that was not audible to all.
"I will, I will," replied Marescotti, speaking rapidly, his glowing eyes raising themselves from her face to look out over the distance; "but, in mercy, grant me a few moments to collect myself. Remember I am a poet; imagination is my world; the unreal my home; the Muses my sisters.
Trenta, still rooted to the same spot, listened to each word that fell from the count's lips with a look of anguish. "Sit down, cavaliere sit down," continued Marescotti, seeing his distress. He put his arm round Trenta's burly, well-filled figure, and drew him down gently into the depths of the arm-chair. "Listen, cavaliere listen to what I have to say before you altogether condemn me.
His great bodily strength had been given him for that purpose, Fra Pacifico always said. "I offered her in marriage to Count Marescotti," answered the cavaliere, lifting up his aged head, and meeting the priest's suspicious glance with a look of gentle reproach. "What do you think I could have done but this?" "And Count Marescotti refused her?" "Yes, he refused her because he was a communist.
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