“I bind myself, immediately on the signing of the contract, to discharge every mortgage, debt, and incumbrance on these feudal lands of Corellia in the Garfagnana; also any debts in and about the Guinigi Palace and lands, within and without the walls of Lucca.  I take upon myself every incumbrance,” Nobili repeated emphatically, raising his voice.  “My purpose is fully noted in that contract, hastily drawn up at my desire.  I also bestow on the marchesa’s niece the Guinigi Palace I bought at Lucca—­to the marchesa’s niece, Enrica Guinigi, and her heirs forever; also a dowry of fifty thousand francs a year, should she survive me.”

What is it about gold that invests its possessor with such instant power?  Is knowledge power?—­or does gold weigh more than brains?  I think so.  Gold-pieces and Genius weighed in scales would send poor Genius kicking!

From the moment Count Nobili had made apparent the wealth which he possessed, he was master of the situation.  The marchesa’s quick perception told her so.  While he was accepting all her debts, with the superb indifference of a millionaire, she grew cold all over.

“Tell the notary,” she said, endeavoring to maintain her usual haughty manner, “to put down that, at my death, I bequeath to my niece all of which I die possessed—­the palace at Lucca, and the heirlooms, plate, jewels, armor, and the picture of my great ancestor Castruccio Castracani, to be kept hanging in the place where it now is, opposite the seigneurial throne in the presence-chamber.”

Here she paused.  The hasty scratch of Ser Giacomo’s pen was heard upon the parchment.  Spite of her efforts to control her feelings, an ashy pallor spread over the marchesa’s face.  She grasped her two hands together so tightly that the finger-tips grew crimson; a nervous quiver shook her from head to foot.  Cavaliere Trenta, who read the marchesa like a book, watched her in perfect agony.  What was going to happen?  Would she faint?

“I also bequeath,” continued the marchesa, rising from her seat with solemn action, and speaking in a low, hushed voice, her eyes fixed on the floor—­“I also bequeath the great Guinigi name and our ancestral honors to my niece—­to bear them after my death, together with her husband, then to pass to her eldest child.  And may that great name be honored!”

The marchesa reseated herself, raised her thin white hands, and threw up her eyes to heaven.  The sacrifice was made!

“May I call in the lady?” again asked the cavaliere, addressing no one in particular.

“I will fetch her in,” replied Fra Pacifico, rising from his chair.  “She is my spiritual daughter.”

No one moved while Fra Pacifico was absent.  Ser Giacomo, the notary, dressed in his Sunday suit of black, remained, pen in hand, staring at the wall.  Never in his humble life had he formed one of such a distinguished company.  All his life Ser Giacomo had heard of the Marchesa Guinigi as a most awful lady.  If Fra Pacifico had not caught him within his little office near the cafe, rather than have faced her, Ser Giacomo would have run away.