"I!" exclaimed Leonora, with a start, and an expression almost of pain upon her face; "I marry any one! I wish to marry any one! to be the passive plaything of a rude boor--to be sported with at his will and pleasure--to have the sanctity of my chamber invaded by a coarse man! When I think of it, I cannot but marvel that any woman, with the feelings of a woman, can so degrade herself." "The feelings of the woman prompt her, lady," said Carlotta; "but, do you know, I saw a man at Mother Agostina's--that is, my Bernardino's aunt--a courier just returned from France, and he told me that all the people there say that you are married." "More likely to be buried, my Carlotta," replied Leonora; "but what have the people of France to do with me?" "Why, they seem to have a great deal to do with Italy now," rejoined the girl. "Since the pope's son has been to the place they call Chinon, and has been made Duke of Valentinois by the new King of France, that monarch seems to be as much pope in Rome as the Holy Father himself. Have you not heard, lady, that a whole crowd of Frenchmen--lords and knights, and such like--are coming over with some chosen troops to help Alexander and the new duke to make up a great duchy here in Italy for him who used to be a cardinal, and who is now a soldier?" "No, I have heard nothing of it," replied Leonora; "doubtless my father has, if the gossip be true." "Oh! it is quite true, lady," replied the girl; "all was in preparation when Giacomo came away, and, besides, at the King of France's desire, the pope has made one of these young lords Prefect of Romagna. But he is Italian by birth, they say, and a cousin of the King of France, and brings his beautiful young wife with him." Leonora rose from her seat and gazed into the girl's eyes for a moment in silence, with a look that almost frightened poor Carlotta. "Did you hear his name?" she asked, at length. "It was Lorenzo something," replied the girl; "Visconti, I think." Leonora turned away abruptly, and with a quick step climbed the hill, entered the villa, and sought her own apartments. She passed through the ante-room, and through that where her maids sat embroidering, without speaking a word, and entering her own chamber, cast herself down upon her bed and wept. "Fool! fool! fool that I am!" she cried, at length, starting up. "I thought I had torn it out by the roots; but it is there still." She drew the dagger, in its sheath of velvet and gold, from her bosom, gazed at it for a moment and murmured,