During the last hours of the ball the night before she had voluntarily given the Sicilian her hand, and rewarded his faithful wooing by accepting his suit.
Moor was rejoiced--yes, really glad at heart, and expressed his pleasure; nevertheless he felt a sharp pang, and when the baron, in his simple, aristocratic manner, thanked him for the faithful friendship he had always shown Sophonisba and her sisters, and then related how graciously the queen had joined their hands, he only listened with partial attention, for many doubts and suspicions beset him.
Had Sophonisba's heart uttered the "yes," or had she made a heavy sacrifice for him and his safety?
Perhaps she would find true happiness by the side of this worthy noble, but why had she given herself to him now, just now?
Then the thought darted through his mind, that the widowed Marquesa Romero, the all-powerful friend of the Grand Inquisitor was Don Fabrizio's sister.
Sophonisba had left the conversation to her betrothed husband; but when the doors of the brightly-lighted reception-room were opened, and the candles in the studio lighted, the girl could no longer endure the restraint she had hitherto imposed upon herself, and whispered hurriedly, in broken accents: "Dismiss the servants, lock the studio, and follow us." Moor did as he was requested, and, with the baron, obeyed her request to search the anterooms, to see that no unbidden visitor remained.

She herself raised the curtains and looked up the chimney.
Moor had rarely seen her so pale.

Unable to control the muscles of her face, shoulders and hands, she went into the middle of the room, beckoned the men to come close to her, raised her fan to her face, and whispered: "Don Fabrizio and I are now one.

God hears me! You, Master, are in great peril and surrounded by spies.

Some one witnessed yesterday's incident, and it is now the talk of the town.