"It is not worthy of you!" he exclaimed, with excitement; "it is worthy neither of you nor of me! No, no," and he leaned over the tower, and watched the paper as it floated downward in the still air. "Let it perish."
"Oh! why have you destroyed it?" cried Enrica, greatly distressed. "That paper would have told me all I want to know. How cruel! how unkind!"
But there was no help for it. No lamentation could bring the paper back again. The sonnet was gone. Marescotti had sacrificed the man to the poet. His artistic sense had conquered.
"Excuse me, dear signorina," he pleaded, "the composition was imperfect. It was too hurried. With your permission, on my return, I will address some other verses to you, more appropriate—more polished."
"Ah! they will not be like those. They will not tell me what I want to know. They cannot come from your very soul like those. The power to divine is gone from you." Enrica could hardly restrain her tears.
"I am very sorry," answered the count, "but I could not help it; I did it unconsciously."
"Indeed, count, you did very wrong," put in the cavaliere; "one understands you wrote in furore—so much the better," and Trenta gave a sly wink, which was entirely lost on Marescotti. "But time is getting on. When are we to have that oration on the history and beauties of Lucca that we came up to hear? Had you not better begin?"
The count was engaged at that moment in plucking a sprig of bay for himself and for the cavaliere to wear, as he said, "in memoriam." "I am ready," he replied. "It is a subject that I love."
"Let us begin with the mountains; they are the nearest to God." As he pronounced that name, the count raised his eyes reverently, and uncovered his head. Enrica had placed herself on his right hand, but all interest had died out of her face. She only listened mechanically.
(Yes, the mountains, the glorious mountains! There they were—before, behind, in front; range upon range—peak upon peak, like breakers on a restless sea! Mountains of every shade, of every shape, of every height. Already their mighty tops were flecked with the glow of the western sunbeams; already pink and purple mists had gathered upon their sides, filling the valleys with mystery!)