Fra Pacifico, his full, broad face perfectly unmoved, and Cavaliere Trenta, who watched the scene nervously with troubled, twinkling eyes, placed themselves on either side of Count Nobili.  Ser Giacomo had already slipped round behind the sofa, and seated himself at a table placed against the wall, the marriage-contract spread out before him.  There was an awkward pause.  Then Count Nobili rose, and, in that sweet-toned voice which had fallen like a charm on many a woman’s ear, addressed the marchesa.

“Marchesa Guinigi, hereditary Governess of Lucca, and Countess of the Garfagnana, I am come to ask in marriage the hand of your niece, Enrica Guinigi.  I desire no portion with her.  The lady herself is a portion more than enough for me.”

As Nobili ceased speaking, the ruddy color shot across his brow and cheeks, and his eyes glistened.  His generous nature spoke in those few words.

“Count Nobili,” replied the marchesa, carefully avoiding his eye, which eagerly sought hers—­“am I correct in addressing you as Count Nobili?—­Pardon me if I am wrong.”  Here she paused, and affected to hesitate.  “Do you bear any other name?  I am really quite ignorant of the new titles.”

This question was asked with outward courtesy, but there was such a twang of scorn in the marchesa’s tone, such an expression of contempt upon her lip, that the old chamberlain trembled on his chair.  Even at this last moment it was possible that her infernal pride might scatter every thing to the winds.

“Call me Mario Nobili—­that will do,” answered the count, reddening to the roots of his chestnut curls.

The marchesa inclined her head, and smiled a sarcastic smile, as if rejoicing to acquaint herself with a fact before unknown.  Then she resumed: 

“Mario Nobili—­you saved my niece’s life last night.  I am advised that I cannot refuse you her hand in marriage, although—­”

Such a black frown clouded Nobili’s countenance under the sting of her covert insults that Trenta hastily interposed.

“Permit me to remind you, Marchesa Guinigi, that, subject to your approval, the conditions of the marriage have been already arranged by me and Fra Pacifico, before you consented to meet Count Nobili.  The present interview is purely formal.  We are met in order to sign the marriage-contract.  The notary, I see, is ready.  The contract lies before him.  May I be permitted to call in the lady?”

“One moment, Cavaliere Trenta,” interposed Nobili, who was still standing, holding up his hand to stop him—­“one moment.  I must request permission to repeat myself the terms of the contract to the Marchesa Guinigi before I presume to receive the honor of her assent.”

It was now the marchesa’s turn to be discomfited.  This was the avowal of an open bargain between Count Nobili and herself.  A common exchange of value for value; such as low creatures barter for with each other in the exchange.  She felt this, and hated Nobili more keenly for having had the wit to wound her.