REVEREND AND ESTEEMED FATHER: I have put the matter of Enrica's marriage into the hands of the well-known advocate, Maestro Guglielmi, of Lucca. He at once left for Rome. By extraordinary diligence he procured a summons for Count Nobili to appear within fifteen days before the tribunal, to answer in person for his breach of marriage-contract—unless, before the expiration of that time, he should make the contract good by marriage. The citation was left with the secretary at Count Nobili's own house. Maestro Guglielmi also informed the secretary, by my order, that, in default of his—Count Nobili's—appearance, a detailed account of the whole transaction with my niece, and of other transactions touching Count Nobili's father, known to me—of which I have informed Maestro Guglielmi—would be published—upon my authority—in every newspaper in all the cities throughout Italy, with such explanations and particulars as I might see fit to insert. Also that the name of Count Nobili, as a slanderer and a perjurer, should be placarded on all the spare walls of Lucca, at Florence, and throughout Tuscany. The secretary denies any knowledge of his master's present address. He declared that he was unable, therefore, to communicate with him.
In the mean time a knowledge of the facts has spread through this city. The public voice is with us to a man. Once more the citizens have rallied round the great Guinigi name. Crowds assemble daily before Count Nobili's palace. His name is loudly execrated by the citizens. Stones have been thrown, and windows broken; indeed, there are threats of burning the palace. The authorities have not interfered. Count Nobili has now, I hear, returned privately to Lucca. He dares not show himself, or he would be stabbed; but Count Nobili's lawyer has had a conference with Maestro Guglielmi. Cavaliere Trenta insisted upon being present. This was against my will. Cavaliere Trenta always says too much. Maestro Guglielmi gave Count Nobili's lawyer three days to decide. At the expiration of that time Signore Guglielmi met him again. Count Nobili's lawyer declared that with the utmost difficulty he had prevailed upon his client to make good the contract by the religious ceremony of marriage. Let every thing therefore be ready for the ceremony. This letter is private. You will say nothing further to my niece than that Count Nobili will arrive at Corellia at two o'clock the day after to-morrow to marry her. Farewell.
Your friend and well-wisher,
"MARCHESA GUINIGI."
The morning of the third day rose gray and chill at Corellia. Much rain had fallen during the night, and a damp mist streamed up from the valleys, shutting out the mighty range of mountains. In the plains of Pisa and Florence the October sun still blazed glorious as ever on the lush grass and flowery meadows—on the sluggish streams and the rich blossoms. There, the trees still rustled in green luxuriance, to soft breezes perfumed with orange-trees and roses. But in the mountain-fastnesses of the Apennines autumn had come on apace. Such faded leaves as clung to the shrubs about the villa were drooping under the weight of the rain-drops, and a few autumnal flowers that still lit up the broad borders lay prostrate on the earth. Each tiny stream and brawling water-course—even mere little humble rills that dried up in summer—now rushed downward over rocks and stones blackened with moss, to pour themselves into the river Serchio. In the forest the turf was carpeted with yellow leaves, carried hither and thither by the winds. The stems and branches of the chestnuts ranged themselves, tier above tier, like silver pillars, against the red sandstone of the rocks. The year was dying out, and with the year all Nature was dying out likewise.
Within the villa a table was spread in the great sala, with wine and such simple refreshments as the brief notice allowed. As the morning advanced, clouds gathered more thickly over the heavens. The gloomy daylight coming in at the doors, and through the many windows, caught up no ray within. The vaguely-sailing ships painted upon the wall, destined never to find a port in those unknown seas for which their sails were set—and that exasperating company opposite, that through all changes of weal or woe danced remorselessly under the greenwood—were shrouded in misty shadows.
Not a sound broke the silence—nothing save the striking of the clock at Corellia, bringing with it visions of the dark old church—the kneeling women—and the peace of God within. Even Argo and his friends—Juno and Tuzzi, and the bull-dog—were mute.
About twelve o'clock the marchesa arrived from Lucca. In her company came the Cavaliere Trenta and Maestro Guglielmi. Fra Pacifico was in waiting. He received them with grave courtesy. Adamo, arrayed by Pipa in his Sunday clothes, with a flower behind his ear, and Silvestro, stood uncovered at the entrance. Once, and once only, Silvestro abstained from addressing his mistress with his usual question about her health.
Maestro Guglielmi was formally presented to Fra Pacifico by the punctilious cavaliere, now restored to his usual health and spirits. The cavaliere had arrayed himself in his official uniform—dark-purple velvet embroidered with gold. Not having worn the uniform, however, for more than twenty years, the coat was much too small for him. In his hand he carried a white staff of office. This served him as a stick. Coming up from Lucca, the cavaliere had reflected that on him solely must rest the care of imparting some show of dignity to the ceremony about to take place. He resolved that he would be equal to the occasion, whatever might occur.
There was a strange hush upon each one of the little group met in the sala. Each was busy with his own thoughts. The marriage about to take place was to the marchesa the resurrection of the Guinigi name. To Fra Pacifico it was the possible rescue of Enrica from a life of suffering, perhaps an early death. To Guglielmi it was the triumph of the keen lawyer, who had tracked and pursued his prey until that prey had yielded. To the cavaliere it was simply an act of justice which Count Nobili owed to Enrica, after the explanations he (Trenta) had given to him through his lawyer, respecting Count Marescotti—such an act of justice as the paternal government of his master the Duke of Lucca would have forced, upon the strength of his absolute prerogative, irrespective of law. The only person not outwardly affected was the marchesa. The marchesa had said nothing since her arrival, but there was a haughty alacrity of step and movement, as she walked down the sala toward the door of her own apartment, that spoke more than words.