The irruption was so sudden and unexpected, that for an instant she failed to realize it.  But her presence of mind quickly returned, and, forcibly withdrawing the hand to which he clung, she turned to the astonished waiting-maid and said quite calmly, “Please deliver immediately the message I spoke of.”

Giovanna left the room and proceeded directly to the adjoining apartment, where Signor Balbino was engaged in earnest conversation with another gentleman.

Fitzgerald remained kneeling, still pleading vehemently for forgiveness.

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” said she, “this audacity is incredible.  I could not have imagined it possible you would presume ever again to come into my presence, after having sold me to that infamous man.”

“He took advantage of me, Rosa.  I was intoxicated with wine, and knew not what I did.  I could not have done it if I had been in my senses.  I have always loved you as I never loved any other woman; and I never loved you so wildly as now.”

“Leave me!” she exclaimed imperiously.  “Your being here does me injury.  If you have any manhood in you, leave me!”

He strove to clutch the folds of her robe, and in frenzied tones cried out:  “O Rosabella, don’t drive me from you!  I can’t live without—­”

A voice like a pistol-shot broke in upon his sentence:  “Villain!  Deceiver!  What are you doing here?  Out of the house this instant!”

Fitzgerald sprung to his feet, pale with rage, and encountered the flashing eyes of the Signor.  “What right have you to order me out of the house?” said he.

“I am her adopted father,” replied the Italian; “and no man shall insult her while I am alive.”

“So you are installed as her protector!” retorted Fitzgerald, sneeringly.  “You are not the first gallant I have known to screen himself behind his years.”

“By Jupiter!” vociferated the enraged Italian; and he made a spring to clutch him by the throat.

Fitzgerald drew out a pistol.  With a look of utter distress, Rosa threw herself between them, saying, in imploring accents, “Will you go?”

At the same moment, a hand rested gently on the Signor’s shoulder, and a manly voice said soothingly, “Be calm, my friend.”  Then, turning to Mr. Fitzgerald, the gentleman continued:  “Slight as our acquaintance is, sir, it authorizes me to remind you that scenes like this are unfit for a lady’s apartment.”

Fitzgerald slowly replaced his pistol, as he answered coldly:  “I remember your countenance, sir, but I don’t recollect where I have seen it, nor do I understand what right you have to intrude here.”

“I met you in New Orleans, something more than four years ago,” replied the stranger; “and I was then introduced to you by this lady’s father, as Mr. Alfred King of Boston.”

“O, I remember,” replied Fitzgerald, with a slight curl of his lip.  “I thought you something of a Puritan then; but it seems you are her protector also.”