“How old are you, Nino?”

“Did I never tell you?” he asked innocently.  “I shall be twenty-one soon.”

“You talk as though you were forty, at least.”

“Heaven save us!” quoth Nino.

“But really, are you not immensely flattered at the reception you had?”

“Yes.”

“You did not look at all interested in the public at the time,” said she, “and that Roman nose of yours very nearly turned up in disdain of the applause, I thought.  I wonder what you were thinking of all the while.”

“Can you wonder, baronessa?” She knew what he meant, and there was a little look of annoyance in her face when she answered.

“Ah, well, of course not, since she was there.”  Her ladyship rose, and taking a stick of Eastern pastil from a majolica dish in a corner made Nino light it from a wax taper.

“I want the smell of the sandal-wood this morning,” said she; “I have a headache.”  She was enchanting to look at as she bent her softly-shaded face over the flame to watch the burning perfume.  She looked like a beautiful lithe sorceress making a love spell,—­perhaps for her own use.  Nino turned from her.  He did not like to allow the one image he loved to be even for a moment disturbed by the one he loved not, however beautiful.  She moved away, leaving the pastil on the dish.  Suddenly she paused, and turned back to look at him.

“Why did you come to-day?” she asked.

“Because you desired it,” answered Nino, in some astonishment.

“You need not have come,” she said, bending down to lean on the back of a silken chair.  She folded her hands and looked at him as he stood not three paces away.  “Do you not know what has happened?” she asked, with a smile that was a little sad.

“I do not understand,” said Nino simply.  He was facing the entrance to the room, and saw the curtains parted by the servant.  The baroness had her back to the door, and did not hear.

“Do you not know,” she continued, “that you are free now?  Your appearance in public has put an end to it all.  You are not tied to me any longer,—­unless you wish it.”

As she spoke these words Nino turned white, for under the heavy curtain, lifted to admit her, stood Hedwig von Lira, like a statue, transfixed and immovable from what she had heard.  The baroness noticed Nino’s look, and springing back to her height from the chair on which she had been leaning, faced the door.

“My dearest Hedwig!” she cried, with a magnificent readiness.  “I am so very glad you have come.  I did not expect you in the least.  Do take off your hat, and stay to breakfast.  Ah, forgive me; this is Professor Cardegna.  But you know him?  Yes; now that I think, we all went to the Pantheon together.”  Nino bowed low, and Hedwig bent her head.

“Yes,” said the young girl coldly.  “Professor Cardegna gives me lessons.”

“Why, of course; how bete I am!  I was just telling him that, since he has been successful, and is enrolled among the great artists, it is a pity he is no longer tied to giving Italian lessons,—­tied to coming here three times a week to teach me literature.”  Hedwig smiled a strange icy smile, and sat down by the window.  Nino was still utterly astonished, but he would not allow the baroness’s quibble to go entirely uncontradicted.