When Nobili had done all this, impelled by mixed feelings of wounded pride, obstinacy, and defiance, he had never, let it be noted, seen Enrica.  But after a meeting had been arranged by Teresa one morning at early mass in the cathedral, near a dark and unfrequented altar in the transept—­an arrangement, be it observed, unknown to Enrica—­all his feelings changed.  From the moment he saw her he loved her with all the fervor of his ardent nature; from that moment he knew that he had never loved before.  The mystery of their stolen meetings, the sweet flavor of this forbidden fruit—­and what man does not love forbidden fruit better than labeled pleasures?—­the innocent frankness with which Enrica confessed her love, her unbounded faith in him—­all served to heighten his passion.  He gloried—­he reveled in her confidence.  Never, never, he swore a thousand times, should she have cause to repent it.  In the possession of Enrica’s love, all other desires, aims, ambitions, had—­up to the night of the Orsetti ball—­vanished.  Up to that night, for her sake, he had grown solitary, silent—­nay, even patient and subtle.  He had clean forgotten his feud with the Marchesa Guinigi, or only remembered it as a possible obstacle to his union with Enrica; otherwise the marchesa was absolutely indifferent to him.  Up to the night of the Orsetti ball the whole world was indifferent to him.  But now!—­

Nobili, sitting very still, his face shaded by his hand, had finished his cigar.  While smoking it he had decided what he would say to Enrica.  Again he took up his pen.  This time he dropped it in the ink, and wrote as follows: 

AMORE:  I have treasured all the love you gave me when last we met.  I know that love witnesses for me also in your own heart.  Beyond all earthly things you are dear to me.  Come to me, O my Enrica—­come to me; never let us part.  I must have you, you only.  I must gaze upon you hour by hour; I must hang upon that dear voice.  I must feel that angel-presence ever beside me.  When will you meet me?  I implore you to answer.  After our next meeting I am resolved to claim you, by force or by free-will, to be my wife.  To wait longer, O my Enrica, is good neither for you nor for me.  My love! my love! you must be mine—­mine—­mine!  Come to me—­come quickly.  Your adoring.

“MARIO NOBILI.”

CHAPTER V.

NUMBER FOUR AT THE UNIVERSO HOTEL.

Cesare Trenta is dressed with unusual care.  His linen is spotless; his white hair, as fine as silk, is carefully combed; his chin is well shaven.  He wears a glossy white hat, and carries his gold-headed cane in his hand.  Not that he condescends to use that cane as he mounts the marble staircase of the Universo Hotel (once the Palazzo Buffero) a little stiffly, on his way to keep his appointment with Count Marescotti; oh, no—­although the cavaliere is well past eighty, he intends to live much longer; he reserves that cane, therefore, to assist him in his old age.  Now he does not want it.