"Where is the saviour of my child?" said Borelloni, on the following morning.
"Gone?" said his attendants.
"Gone? Fools! Why did you send him away thus?"
"He would not stay, your excellency. He said his home was near by."
"Then go, I tell you, and search the country far and wide, and bring him to me."
After their departure, the baron remained in deep thought for a long time.
"Strange," muttered he, "passing strange, how this painter seems to be my genius. A good genius too-near in moments of peril. How he looked as his face rose above the waves, while he bore my daughter to the shore. Yet how can I give her to him? I cannot."
The attendants returned at evening. Their search was unsuccessful. But one said that a tall, noble-looking man had departed in the diligence for Florence at early dawn.
"'Tis well," exclaimed Borelloni. "I fear to meet him. Better is it that he should go."
Summer with its heat had passed away, and mild September had now come, when Florence again becomes delightful. The villa at Thrasymene was now forsaken, and the palace of Borelloni at Florence again was all joyous and thronged with people as of yore. Again the carriage of the count rolled along the Lung' Arno, and he received the salutations of his friends.