“But I had not mentioned to the Marchese Ludovico my intention with regard to the girl.  How could he have been led to do such an act by such a motive, when he knew nothing of it?” said the Marchese, after several minutes of consideration.

“Unfortunately he did know it, and has himself stated that he knew it.  It seems that the girl herself took the opportunity of their drive together to tell him of the fact.  Would to heaven that she had never done so,” said Fortini, with a deep sigh.

“But anybody must see that it is a thousand times more probable that she should have been killed by robbers—­vagabonds tramping through the country.  The Pineta is always full of them.  I am sure I would no more lie—­I would no more wander there alone!—­Of course the unfortunate girl must have been murdered by brigands.”

“If any robbery had been committed, there might be reason to hope so, or at least ground for such theory.  But, unfortunately, she had exposed on her person valuables exceedingly tempting to a thief; but they remained untouched.”

At that moment there came a loud and hurried rapping at the door.  The Marchese started violently in his chair, and turned deadly pale; another proof, if more were needed, of the degree in which his nervous system had been shaken by the intelligence he had received, coming, as it did, on the back of all that had previously contributed to unhinge his mind.  In the next instant, a servant put his head into the room, saying that the Conte Leandro had returned, and was urgent to be admitted to see the Marchese, declaring that he had a very important communication to make to him.

“I cannot see him.  I will not see him.  I will see nobody.  Signor Fortini, would you have the kindness to let him understand that I am not in a condition to see anybody?” said the Marchese, apparently much agitated.

The lawyer stepped rapidly to the door, and at the stair-head found the Conte Leandro, bursting with the news, which he had hoped to be the first to communicate to the Marchese, and which, of course, showed how wise and timely had been his own interference in telling the Marchese of the proposed excursion of Ludovico, and how disastrous had been the results of his not having paid due attention to it.

“My dear Conte,” said Fortini, “I have just done the painful task which you, doubtless, have kindly come to undertake.  You must excuse the Marchese if he declines, for the present, to see you.  You will readily understand how terrible the shock has been to him.  He is, as might be expected, quite broken down by it.  In truth, I wish you had had the telling him instead of me.  It was most painful.”

“But, Signor Fortini,” urged the poet, eagerly, as the lawyer was turning away to return to the Marchese, “are you aware—­have you heard what is said in the town?—­that the Marchese had offered marriage to La Bianca, and that this was the cause—­of course I do not believe anything of the kind myself—­but I assure you it is what people are saying.  And I think the Marchese ought to be told, you know, for—­”