"Yesterday morning an express came down for Cavaliere Trenta. The ancient tower of Corellia has been entirely burnt. The marchesa was rescued."
"And the niece—is the niece gone to glory on the funeral-pyre?"
"No," answered Baldassare, helplessly, settling his stupid eyes on
Orazio, whose thrusts he could not parry. "She was saved by Count
Nobili, who was accidentally shooting on the mountains near."
"Oh, bah!" cried Malatesta, with a knowing grin; "I never believe in accidents. There is a ruling power. That power is love—love—love."
"The cavaliere is not yet returned."
"This is a strange story," said Orsetti, gravely. "Nobili too, and Marescotti. She must be a lively damsel. What will Nera Boccarini say to her truant knight, who rescues maidens accidentally on distant mountains? What had Nobili to do in the Garfagnana?"
"Ask him," lisped Orazio; "it will save more talking. I wish Nobili joy of his bargain," he added, turning to Malatesta.
"I wonder that he cares to take up with Marescotti's leavings."
"Here's Ruspoli, crossing the square. Perhaps he can throw some light on this strange story," said Orsetti.
Prince Ruspoli, still at Lucca, is on a visit to some relatives. He is, as I have said, decidedly horsey, and is much looked up to by the "golden youths," his companions, in consequence. As a gentleman rider at races and steeple-chases, as a hunter on the Roman Campagna, and the driver of a "stage" on the Corso, Ruspoli is unrivaled. He breeds racers, and he has an English stud-groom, who has taught him to speak English with a drawl, enlivened by stable-slang. He is slim, fair, and singularly awkward, and of a uniform pale yellow—yellow complexion, yellow hair, and yellow eyebrows. Poole's clothes never fit him, and he walks, as he dances, with his legs far apart, as if a horse were under him. He carries a hunting-whip in his hand spite of the month—October (these little anomalies are undetected in New Italy, where there is so much to learn). Prince Ruspoli swings round this whip as he mounts the steps of the club. The others, who are watching his approach, are secretly devoured with envy.