"Spare her, spare her!" is heard in less audible sounds from Trenta to the marchesa. The marchesa tosses her head defiantly.
"I am to be Count Nobili's wife," Enrica says at last, in a faltering voice. "The Holy Mother is my witness, I have done nothing wrong. I have met him in the cathedral, and at the door of the Moorish garden. He has written to me, and I have answered."
"Doubtless; and you have met him alone?" asked the marchesa, with a savage sneer.
"Never, my aunt; Teresa was always with me."
"Teresa, curse her! She shall leave the house as naked as she came into it. How many other of my servants did you corrupt?"
"Not one; it was known to her and to me only."
"And why not to me, your guardian? why not to me?" And the marchesa advances step by step toward Enrica, as the bitter consciousness of having been hoodwinked by such a child fills her with fresh rage. "You have deceived me—I who have fed and clothed and nourished you—I who, but for this, would have endowed you with all I have, bequeathed to you a name greater than that of kings! Answer me this, Enrica. Leave off wringing your hands and turning up your eyes. Answer me!"
"My aunt, I was afraid."
"Afraid!" and the marchesa laughs a loud and scornful laugh; "you were not, afraid to meet this man in secret."
"No. Fear him! what had I to fear? Nobili loves me."