“It is now enough,” whispered Carlo, just as she had drawn forth a new theme.  “You have but a quarter of an hour left!”

“Only this theme yet,” she begged in a low tone.  “It is a very happy one, it will win for me the hearts of all these cardinals and gentlemen!”

“Yet a quarter of an hour, and then your time is up,” said he.  “Remember my oath, I shall keep my word!”

An inexplicable anxiety, a tormenting uneasiness, came over him; he had hardly strength and recollection sufficient to enable him to accompany Corilla, who was discussing in verse the question, “Which Rome was the happiest, ancient or modern?”

Carlo’s eyes, fixed and motionless, rested upon Natalie; it fearfully alarmed him not to be near her, not to be able to watch every one of her steps, every one of her motions; it seemed to him as if he saw that savage man with his naked dagger lurking near her!  And she, was she not pale as a lily; seemed she not, in that white robe, to be already the bride of death?

“I must hasten to her, I must protect her or die!” thought he, and, with a threatening glance at Corilla, he showed her the hour.  Corilla read in the expression of his face that he was in earnest with his threat, and as if her inspiration lent wings to her words, she spoke on as in a storm of inward agitation, and with words of fire she decided that modern Rome was the happiest, as she had the holy father of Christendom, her pope, and his cardinals!

The applause, the general delight, was now unbounded; cardinals were to be seen weeping with enthusiasm and joy; others with heartfelt emotion were showering words of blessing upon the improvisatrice, and all pressed toward the tribune in order to accompany her down the steps and in among the company.

A sudden thought of rescue had like a flash of lightning arisen in Carlo’s soul.

“Natalie must first be completely separated from this society, and then I will seek this man and render him incapable of mischief!” thought he.

By main strength he made himself a path through the crowd surrounding Corilla, and now stood near Cardinal Bernis, at whose side still remained Natalie and Count Paulo.

“You have struck the lyre like an Apollo,” exclaimed the cardinal to the singer.

Carlo bowed with a smile, and hastily said:  “And are you ignorant, your eminence, that a much greater poetess and improvisatrice than our Corilla is in your society?”

The cardinal smilingly threatened him with his finger.  “Poor Carlo, has it already come to this?” said he.  “You are jealous of our delight in Corilla, and would lessen her fame, that you may make her more your own!”

“I speak the truth,” said Carlo; “a poetess is among us whom the muses themselves have consecrated, an improvisatrice, not of human composition, but by the grace of God, to whom the angels whisper the rhymes, and the muses the ideas!”