“Did you observe nothing this evening, my friend?” he asked—­“nothing?” His manner was unusually excited.

“No,” she answered, thoughtfully.  She had been so exclusively occupied with the slights put upon herself that every thing else had escaped her.  “I observed nothing except the impertinence of Count Marescotti, and the audacity—­the—­”

“Stop, marchesa,” interrupted Trenta, holding up his hand.  “We will talk of all that another time.  If Count Marescotti and Baldassare have offended you, you can decline to receive them.  You observed nothing, you say?  I did.”  He leaned forward, and spoke with emphasis—­“Marescotti is in love with Enrica.”

The marchesa started violently and raised herself bolt upright.

“The Red count in love with a child like Enrica!”

“Only a child in your eyes, Signora Marchesa,” rejoined Trenta, warmly. (He had warmed with his own convictions, his benevolent heart was deeply interested in Enrica.  He had known her since she had first come to Casa Guinigi, a baby; from his soul he pitied her.) “In the eyes of the world Enrica is not only a woman, but promises to be a very lovely one.  She is seventeen years old, and marriageable.  Young ladies of her name and position must have fortunes, or they do not marry well.  If they do, it is a chance—­quite a chance.  Under these circumstances, it would be cruel to deprive her of so suitable an alliance as Count Marescotti.  Now, allow me to ask you, seriously, how would this marriage suit you?”

“Not at all,” replied the marchesa, curtly.  “The count is a republican.  I hate republicans.  The Guinigi have always been Ghibelline, and loyal.  I dislike him, too, personally.  I was about to desire you never to bring him here again.  Contact with low people has spoiled him.  His manners are detestable.”

“But, marchesa, che vuole?” Trenta shrugged his shoulders.  “He belongs to one of the oldest families in Rome; he is well off, handsome (he reminds me of your ancestor, Castruccio Castracani); a wife might improve him.”  The marchesa shook her head.

“He like the great Castruccio!—­I do not see it.”

“Permit me,” resumed Trenta, “without entering into details which, as a friend, you have confided to me, I must remind you that your affairs are seriously embarrassed.”

The marchesa winced; she guessed what was coming.  She knew that she could not deny it.

“You are embarrassed by lawsuits.  Unfortunately, all have gone against you.”

“I fought for the ancient privileges of the Guinigi!” burst out the marchesa, imperiously.  “I would do it again.”

“I do not in the least doubt you would do it again, exalted lady,” responded Trenta, with a quiet smile.  “Indeed, I feel assured of it.  I merely state the fact.  You have sacrificed large sums of money.  You have lost every suit.  The costs have been enormous.  Your income is greatly reduced.  Enrica is therefore portionless.”