Nobili has now ceased striding up and down the room.  He stands facing the window.  His ear has caught the barking of several dogs.  A minute after, one rushes past the window—­raised only by a few stone steps from the ground—­formidable beast with long white hair, tail on end, ears erect, open-mouthed, fiery-eyed—­this is Argo—­Argo let loose, famished—­maddened by Adamo’s devices—­Argo rushing at full speed and tearing up a shower of gravel with his huge paws.  Barking horribly, he disappears into the shrubs.  Argo’s bark is taken up by the other dogs from all round the house in various keys.  Juno the lurcher gives a short low yelp; the rat-terrier Tuzzi, a shrill, grating whine like a rusty saw; the bull-terrier, a deep growl.  In the solemn silence of the untrodden Apennines that rise around, the loud voices of the dogs echo from cliff to cliff boom down into the abyss, and rattle there like thunder.  The night-birds catch up the sound and screech; the frightened bats circle round wildly.

At this moment heavy footsteps creak upon the gravel under the shadow of the wall.  A low whistle passes through the air, and the dogs disappear.

“A savage pack, like their mistress,” was Count Nobili’s thought as his eyes tried to pierce into the growing darkness.

Night is coming on.  Heavy vapors creep up from the earth and obscure the air.  Darker and denser clouds cover the heavens.  Black shadows gather within the room.  The bed looms out from the lighter walls like a funeral catafalque.

A few pale gleams of light still linger on the horizon.  These fall upon Nobili’s figure as he stands framed in the window.  As the waning light strikes upon his eyes, a presentiment of danger comes over him.  These dogs, these footsteps—­what do they mean?

Again a wild desire seizes him to be riding full speed on the mountain-road to Lucca, to feel the fresh night air upon his heated brow; the elastic spring of his good horse under him, each stride bearing him farther from his enemies.  He is about to leap out and fly, when the warning hand of the lawyer is laid upon his arm.  Nobili shakes him off, but Guglielmi permits himself no indication of offense.  Dejection and grief are depicted on his countenance.  He shakes his head despondingly; his manner is dangerously fawning.  He, too, has heard the dogs, the footsteps, and the whistle.  He has drawn his own conclusions.

“I perceive, Count Nobili,” he says, “you are impatient.”

This was in response to a muttered curse from Nobili.

“Let me go!  A thousand devils!  Let me go!” cried the count, putting the lawyer back.  “Impatient!  I am maddened!”

“But not before we have settled the matter in question.  That is impossible!  Hear me, then.  Count Nobili.  With the deepest sorrow I accept the separation you demand on the part of the marchesa; you give me no choice.  I venture no further remark,” continues Guglielmi meekly, drilling his eyes to a subdued expression.