Noting the pain her words gave him, she added more softly: "You will not leave me again?" "You shrink from the Frangipani," he replied, ignoring her question. "Has he insulted you? Is he your enemy?" "It is not because he is an enemy, but rather the opposite, that I would avoid Raniero Frangipani," was her low reply. All the color had faded from Francesco's lips. "You mean--" the words died in the utterance. "He wooes me!" she said low. A fierce light leaped into Francesco's eyes. She laid a tranquillizing finger on his arm. "You have no cause for wrath, that I can see! And yet I would rather have you near than far. The Frangipani is filled with violent passions. He wooes me violently. Since you left Avellino," she added with seeming reluctance, "he seems to have taken new courage, and--some unexplained umbrage at--I know not what! 'Who is this Francesco Villani?' he said to me and his eyes glowered. 'What is his ancestry? What should entitle him to your regard?' Again and again he dwelled on this point,--Francesco,--you know I love you,--and I care not,--so you love me,--but you will tell me,--that I may silence him,--Francesco,--will you not?" A shadow as from some unseen cloud swept over his face. "I shall tell him myself,--and in your presence." "You will not quarrel?" she said anxiously, holding out her hands to him. He clasped the soft white fingers fiercely in his own, then pressed them to his throbbing heart. In the distance voices were heard calling, clamoring. For some moments they gazed at each other in silence, then she said: "They are calling me! I must return to my task of sorrow!" "Strange words for a queen--" he said with an attempt at merriment. "Queen of the Shades," she replied. "And I long for life--life--life! With all it has to give, with all it can bestow!" A strange, witch-like fire had leaped into her eyes. Her lips, thirstily ajar, revealed two rows of white even teeth, and in that moment she looked so alluringly beautiful, that Francesco in a fever of passion threw his arms about her and kissed her passionately again and again, with moist, hungry lips. "Will you not come?" she whispered, after having utterly abandoned herself to his embrace. He shook his head. "I have no part in this! I will await you here!" The voices sounded nearer. Now could be distinguished the cry: "Proserpina--Proserpina!" She turned reluctantly, with a last glance at him, and hastened back towards the revels. Francesco watched the slender, girlish form, until she had mingled with the shadows of the trees. Then, with a low cry of anguish, he leaned against the balustrade and covered his face with his hands.--