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They wanted
him, and Emilio had been obliged to ask him.
He saw his opportunity. His fever, coming at such a time, had almost
maddened him, and during the days of forced inaction the Panacci
temper had been vigorously displayed in the home circle. As he lay in
bed his imagination ran riot. The day and the night were filled with
thoughts and dreams of Vere. And always Emilio was near her, presiding
over her doings with a false imitation of the paternal manner.
But now at the last the Marchesino saw his opportunity to strike a
blow at Emilio. Every year of his life since he was a child he had
been to the festa in honor of the Madonna del Carmine. He knew the
crowd that assembled under the prison walls and beneath Nuvolo's tall
belfry, the crowds that overflowed into the gaunt Square of the
Mercato and streamed down the avenues of fire into the narrow side
streets. In those crowds it would be easy to get lost. Emilio, when he
heard his friend's voice singing, had hidden with the Signorina in the
darkness of a cave.


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