“You are very pale, my child.”

“It is nothing, father.  But look-what is the matter with the horses?”

The horses seemed fretful and impatient.  They reared and kicked, they were unruly and troublesome.  The coachman looked pale and anxious.

“The horses?  Nothing!” said her father.  “They are quiet enough.  I like to have a little spirit in my animals.”

Many of the passengers in the streets looked with alarm upon the animals whom the count dreaded so little.

“Good day, Borelloni,” exclaimed a gentleman on horseback; “a most beautiful day!”

“Your servant, signor,” answered the count.  “It is a lovely day.”

“Your horses seem vicious, they are very unruly, are they not!” said the gentleman.

“O no-they are a little excited-they will presently become calm.  A very great number of people are out to-day.”

“Yes, a large number,” replied the gentleman, looking somewhat anxiously at the horses.

After a few moments he rode away.

“Your excellency?” said the coachman to the count.

“Well?” he replied.

“Your excellency’s horses are unmanageable, or will be so soon.  They are not used to these crowded streets.”

“If they do not become so soon, they never will be,” said Borelloni.

The horses began to plunge, and rear, and snort more violently, so much so, that all the people were terrified and got out of the way.  The coachman seemed unable to control them.

Mario was in the Casino, walking beneath the shadow of the trees.  The cool breeze from the mountains fanned his fevered brow, as he walked hurriedly along.

“I am poor.  I am an artist, unknown, uncared for but by one, and that one is the noblest of her sex.  I live only to gain her.  When my picture is finished, I shall be no longer obscure.  When my fame exceeds that of the haughty count, I may well demand his daughter.”  Such were the thoughts that passed through his mind as he walked on.

“I heard his words,” he proceeded.  “I heard his contemptuous words as I passed the carriage, and know the scorn which he feels for me.  But Count Borelloni,” he exclaimed, raising his hand, “I will make you know that birth alone does not constitute greatness.  I will make you know that a lofty soul can struggle upwards.”

Suddenly, far away from the Lung’ Arno, sounded a loud reverberation of many voices, an immense outcry mingled with the deep rumbling of carriage wheels, and the fierce neighing of horses.  There were sounds like the rush of a great multitude, and cries of terror mingled with one another in appalling confusion.

Mario started, and turned back.  Casting his eye toward the city, he saw far away in places where the trees did not intercept his view, numbers of men rushing to and fro.

He stood alone in the utmost perplexity, for no one was near to tell him the cause of that great uproar.