The clock sounded the hour of midnight, and still Isabel detained the
nurse; for a vague and foreboding fear, she could not account for, made
her seek to protract the time of solitude and rest.

At length Gionetta's voice was swallowed up in successive yawns. She
took her lamp and departed to her own room, which was placed in the
upper story of the house. Isabel was alone. The half-hour after
midnight sounded dull and distant, all was still, and she was about to
enter her sleeping-room, when she heard the hoofs of a horse at full
speed. The sound ceased; there was a knock at the door. Her heart beat
violently; but fear gave way to another sentiment when she heard a
voice, too well known, calling on her name. She went to the door.

"Open, Isabel,--it is Zicci," said the voice again.

And why did the actress feel fear no more, and why did that virgin hand
unbar the door to admit, without a scruple or, a doubt, at that late
hour, the visit of the fairest cavalier of Naples? I know not; but
Zicci had become her destiny, and she obeyed the voice of her preserver
as if it were the command of Fate.

Zicci entered with a light and hasty step. His horseman's
cloak fitted tightly to his noble form, and the raven plumes of his
broad hat threw a gloomy shade over his commanding features.

The girl followed him into the room, trembling and blushing deeply, and
stood before him with the lamp she held shining upward on her cheek, and
the long hair that fell like a shower of light over the bare shoulders
and heaving bust.