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Updated: June 20, 2025
He took up his hunting-whip and whirled it in the air dangerously near Orazio's head, eying him all the while as a dog eyes a rat he means to crunch between his teeth. "Whoever says that Count Nobili will marry the Boccarini, is a liar!" Prince Ruspoli spoke with perfect composure, still whirling his whip. "I shall be happy to explain my reason anywhere, out of the city, on the shortest notice."
When Prince Ruspoli left him, Nobili felt as battered and sore as if a whirlwind had caught him, then let him go, and he had dropped to earth a broken man. Yet in the turmoil of his brain a pale, scared little face, with wild, beseeching eyes, was ever before him. It would not leave him. What was this horrible nightmare that had come over him in the heyday of his joy?
I wish Nobili joy of his bargain," he added, turning to Malatesta. "I wonder that he cares to take up with Marescotti's leavings." "Here's Ruspoli, crossing the square. Perhaps he can throw some light on this strange story," said Orsetti. Prince Ruspoli, still at Lucca, is on a visit to some relatives.
Why did not Cardinal Dolgorovski communicate it?" "'He did communicate it three hours later." "Why not at once?" "'His Eminence had not heard it." "Find out at what hour the news reached Moscow not now, but within the day." "'I will." "Go on, then." "'Cardinal Malpas communicated it within five minutes of Cardinal Ruspoli, and the rest of the inquiries arrived before midnight.
What does this mean?" "Nothing," said Orsetti, trying to smile, but not succeeding. "I hear, Nobili, you have behaved with extraordinary generosity," he adds, fencing the question. "Yes, by Jove!" adds Prince Ruspoli. Ruspoli was leaning up against a pillar, watching Orazio as he would a mischievous cur. "A most suitable marriage. Not that I care a button for blood, except in horses."
Orazio started up. "Prince Ruspoli, do you call me a liar?" "I beg your pardon," replied Ruspoli, quite unmoved, making Orazio a mock bow. "Did you say whom Count Nobili would marry? If you did, will you favor me by repeating it?" "I only report town-talk," Franchi answered, sullenly. "I am not answerable for town-talk." Ruspoli was a dead-shot; Orazio only fought with swords.
He is slim, fair, and singularly awkward, and of a uniform pale yellow yellow complexion, yellow hair, and yellow eyebrows. Poole's clothes never fit him, and he walks, as he dances, with his legs far apart, as if a horse were under him. Prince Ruspoli swings round this whip as he mounts the steps of the club. The others, who are watching his approach, are secretly devoured with envy.
Prince Ruspoli met her glance, but said nothing. When Nobili appeared, Prince Ruspoli, who had handed Nera to a seat near a window, bowed to her and retired. "To the devil with Nobili!" was Prince Ruspoli's thought, as he resigned her. Nobili's eyes fell instinctively to the ground as he approached Nera.
She is a stunner." After Orazio had ventured this observation about Nera Boccarini, Prince Ruspoli brought his small, steely eyes to bear upon him with a fixed stare. Orazio affected total unconsciousness, but he quailed inwardly. The others silently watched Ruspoli.
"You are an innocent, Ruspoli. Let me baptize you with scandal." "Don't, don't, I hate scandal," said Ruspoli, taking one of his hands out of his pocket for a moment, and holding it up in remonstrance. "There is nothing but scandal in these small Italian towns. Take to hunting, that's the cure. Nobili is to marry the little girl, that's certain.
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