Maulear, in icy silence, listened to the Count and looked at Aminta. As he did so, his brow became covered with clouds precisely as that of Aminta began to grow bright. The latter, perceiving the painful impressions of the Marquis, extended every attention to him, so that Monte-Leone began to grow moody. The two rivals passed the whole day in alternations of hope and fear, happiness and suffering. The state of things, however, was too tense to be of long duration. These few hours seemed centuries to the adorers of Aminta, and if any one had been able to look into the depths of their ulcerated hearts, he would have seen that a spark would have produced an explosion. Many of the neighbors of Signora Rovero, who had not visited her since the ball, ventured to return. Among others present was Gaetano Brignoli. All loved him for his frank and pleasant off-hand speeches, and all received him with good humor and confidence. Maulear, who had laid aside his dislike, received him kindly, as he had previously done distantly. The Rose of Sorrento reproached Gaetano with having forgotten his promise.
"You should yourself on the next day," said she, "have given me news of Taddeo and of Monte-Leone's trial. You, however, only wrote. Friends like you, and brothers like mine, are unworthy of the affection bestowed on them." Then, like a child making friends with a playmate, she took Gaetano into the embrasure of a meadow, and began to talk with him in a low tone. The night promised to be brilliant and serene, and the air to be soft and pleasant. The evening breeze penetrated into the saloon, refreshing the atmosphere with the respiration of the sea. "What a magnificent evening, Marquis," said Monte-Leone to Maulear, as he approached him, and looked at the stars which had begun to dot the sky.
It was the first time the Count had spoken to the Marquis directly. The latter trembled as a soldier who hears the sound of the first battle signal. His emotion was short, and saluting the Count affably as possible, he replied:
"It, is a winter evening in Italy, Count, but in France it would be one of summer."
"Do you not think," said Monte-Leone, "that this is the proper hour for exercise, in this country? The complete repose of nature, the eloquent silence of night, all invite us to confidence, and make us wish for isolation and solitude—"
"Count," said Maulear, "do you wish for a half solitude; a desert inhabited by two persons?"
"Certainly, that is what I mean."
"So do I, and would participate in yours."
"Come, then, I never saw a more beautiful night, and I shall be charmed to enjoy it with you."
These two men, with rage in their hearts, each being an impregnable barrier to the happiness of the other, loving the same woman in the same way, resolved to contend for her, to their last breath;—these two men left the saloon, with smiles on their lips, like friends about to listen to the secret thoughts of each other beneath the shadow of some beautiful landscape, in happiness and pleasure.