The blue veins appeared on his fine white brow; a hoarse sound like the cry of a wild beast came from his throat. He reached toward his breast, where he usually carried his stiletto—the side pocket was empty—his eyes glanced about as if he were looking for a weapon.
"Do you mean to murder me?"
His right hand, which was still clutching his breast, relaxed and sank; his left also dropped, his fingers were interlocked, a stream of tears burst from his eyes, extinguishing their glow; he fell on his knees and sobbed: "Pardonatemi! Ferdinanda, l'ho amata dal primo giorno che l'ho veduta, ed adesso—ah! adesso——"
"I know it, poor Antonio," said Ferdinande, "and that is why I pardon you—once more—for the last time! If this scene is repeated I shall tell my father, and you will have to go. And now, Signor Antonio, stand up!"
She extended her hand, which he, still kneeling, pressed to his lips and his forehead.
"Antonio! Antonio!" echoed the voice of Justus outside; immediately there was a rap upon the door which led to the court. Antonio sprang to his feet.
"Is Antonio here, Miss Ferdinande?"
Ferdinande went herself to open the door.
"Are you still at work?" inquired Justus, coming in.—"But I thought we were going with your cousin to the Exhibition?"