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Updated: June 25, 2025
"But, Enrica love you consented to leave me. You sent Fra Pacifico to say so." The thought that Enrica had so easily resigned him still rankled in Nobili's heart. Spite of himself, there is bitterness in his tone. Enrica is standing aloof from him. The light of the lamp strikes upon her golden hair, her downcast eyes, her cheeks mantling with blushes.
The public voice is with us to a man. Once more the citizens have rallied round the great Guinigi name. Crowds assemble daily before Count Nobili's palace. His name is loudly execrated by the citizens. Stones have been thrown, and windows broken; indeed, there are threats of burning the palace. The authorities have not interfered. Count Nobili has now, I hear, returned privately to Lucca.
Each act of daily intercourse the merest trifle, as the gravest issue makes up the chain of life. Link by link that chain draws on, weighted with good or ill, and clings about us to the very grave. Thinking of Nera, Nobili's color changed a dark look clouded his ready smile. Enrica asked, "What pains you?" "Nothing, love, nothing," Nobili answered vaguely, "only I fear I am not worthy of you."
These conferences all ended in one conclusion that she was irretrievably ruined. No one knew this better than the marchesa herself; but her haughty reluctance either to accept Count Nobili's money, or to give up Enrica, was the cause of unknown distress to Trenta. Meanwhile the prospect of the wedding had stirred up every one in the house to a sort of aimless activity.
Count Nobili's lawyer declared that with the utmost difficulty he had prevailed upon his client to make good the contract by the religious ceremony of marriage. Let every thing therefore be ready for the ceremony. This letter is private. You will say nothing further to my niece than that Count Nobili will arrive at Corellia at two o'clock the day after to-morrow to marry her. Farewell.
His manly nature rose within him at what he considered Nobili's deliberate cruelty. Inflexible in right, Fra Pacifico was violent in face of wrong. "Why did you not let her die?" he exclaimed, bitterly. "It would have saved her a world of suffering. I thought I knew you, Mario Nobili knew you from a boy," he added, contemplating him with a dark scowl. "You have deceived me.
Shall I never be rid of the marchesa?" Nobili's aspect is becoming menacing. Maestro Guglielmi is not a man easily daunted; yet once within the room, and the desired evidence obtained, he cannot but feel all the awkwardness of his position. Greatly as Guglielmi had been tickled at the notion of becoming himself a witness in his own case, to do him justice he would not have volunteered it.
He gave an imperceptible start, and drew back a little from her. "Do you know Count Marescotti?" Enrica asked him, timidly. "I know him by sight," was Nobili's reply. "He is a mad fellow a republican. Why does he come to Lucca?" Enrica shook her head. "I do not know," she answered, still confused. "Where did you meet him, Enrica?" She blushed, and dropped her eyes.
Fra Pacifico placed Enrica's hand in that of Nobili. Poor little hand how it trembled! Ah! would Nobili not recall how fondly he had clasped it? What kisses he had showered upon each rosy little finger! So lately, too! No Nobili is impassive; not a feature of his face changes. But the contact of Nobili's beloved hand utterly overcame Enrica. The limit of her endurance was reached.
Then she took it up in both her hands, stepped to a mirror that hung near, and, turning the light hither and thither, looked at her blooming face, in full and in profile. Then she replaced the lamp upon the table, yawned, and left the room. Next morning a note was put into Count Nobili's hand at breakfast. It bore the Boccarini arms and the initials of the marchesa.
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