This was not true, and Nera knew it was not true.  Nobili had not come, because he dreaded his weakness and her power.  Nobili had not come, because he doted on Enrica to that excess, a thought alien to her seemed then to him a crime.  What folly!  Now he knew Enrica better!  All that was changed.

“We have felt very grateful,” went on to say the marchesa, “I assure you, Count Nobili, very grateful.”

The poor lady was much exercised in spirit as to how she could frame an available excuse for leaving the count alone with Nera.  Had she only known beforehand, she would have arranged a little plan to do so, naturally.  But it must be done, she knew.  It must be done at any price, or Nera would never forgive her.

“You have been so agreeably occupied, too,” Nera said, in a firm, full voice.  “No wonder, Count Nobili, you had no time to visit us.”

There was a mute reproach in these few words that made Nobili wince.

“I have been absent,” he replied, much confused.

“Yes, absent in mind and body,” and Nera laughed a cruel little laugh.  “You have been at Corellia, I believe?” she added, significantly, fixing him with her lustrous eyes.

“Yes, I have been at Corellia, shooting.”  Nobili shrank from shame at the lack of courtesy on his part which had made these social lies needful.  How brilliant Nera was!

A type of perfect womanhood.  Fresh, and strong, and healthy—­a mother for heroes.

“We have heard of you,” went on Nera, throwing her grand head backward, a quiet deliberation in each word, as if she were dropping them out, word by word, like poison.  “A case of Perseus and Andromeda, only you rescued the lady from the flames.  You half killed me, Count Nobili, and en revanche you have saved another lady.  She must be very grateful.”

“O Nera!” one of her sisters exclaimed, reproachfully.  These innocent sisters never could accommodate themselves to Nera’s caustic tongue.

Nera gave her sister a look.  She rose at once; then the other sister rose also.  They both slipped out of the room.

“Now,” thought the marchesa, “I must go, too.”

“May I be permitted,” she said, rising, “before I leave the room to speak to my confessor, who is waiting for me, on a matter of business”—­this was an excellent sham, and sounded decorous and natural—­“may I be permitted, Count Nobili, to congratulate you on your approaching marriage?  I do not know Enrica Guinigi, but I hear that she is lovely.”

Nobili bowed with evident constraint.

“And I,” said Nera, softly, directing a broadside upon him from her brilliant eyes—­“allow me to congratulate you also.”

“Thank you,” murmured Nobili, scarcely able to form the words.

“Excuse me,” the marchesa said.  She courtesied to Nobili and left the room.

Nobili and Nera were now alone.  Nobili watched her under his eyelids.  Yes, she was splendid.  A luxuriant form, a skin mellow and ruddy as a ripe peach, and such eyes!