an indefinite time, had I not been summarily cut short by the entrance
of a third person.

There was no occasion for this last intruder to announce himself, in a
voice of thunder, as the Marchese Marinelli. I had at once recognised
the original of the signorina's photograph, and I perceived that I was
now in about as uncomfortable a position as my bitterest enemy could
have desired for me. The German old gentleman had been very angry at the
outset; but his wrath, as compared with that of the Italian, was as a
breeze to a hurricane. The marchese was literally quivering from head
to foot with concentrated fury. His face was deadly white, his strongly
marked features twitched convulsively, his eyes blazed like those of a
wild animal. Having stated his identity in the manner already referred
to, he made two strides toward the table by which I was seated, and
stood glaring at me as though he would have sprung at my throat. I
thought it might avert consequences which we should both afterward
deplore if I were to place the table between us; and I did so without
loss of time. From the other side of that barrier I adjured my visitor
to keep cool, pledging him my word, in the same breath, that there was
no harm done as yet.

"No harm!" he repeated, in a strident shout that echoed through the bare
room. "Dog! Villain! You ensnare my daughter's affections--you entice
her away from her father's house--you cover my family with eternal
disgrace--and then you dare to tell me there is no harm done! Wait a
little, and you shall see that there will be harm enough for you. Marry
her you must, since you have ruined her; but you shall die for it the
next day! It is I--I, Ludovico Marinelli--who swear it!"

I am aware that I do but scant justice to the marchese's inimitable