Taken thus aback, the proposal made by Trenta appeared to her hurried and premature—­totally wanting in the dignified and well-considered action that should mark the conduct of the great.  Besides, if an immediate marriage were arranged between Count Marescotti and Enrica, only a part of her plan could be realized.  Enrica was, indeed, now almost portionless; there would be no time to pile up those gold-pieces, or to swell those rustling sheaves of notes that she had—­in imagination—­accumulated.

“Portionless!” the marchesa repeated to herself, half aloud.  “What a humiliation!—­my own niece!”

It will be observed that all this time the marchesa had never considered what Enrica’s feeling might be.  She was to obey her—­that was all.

But in this the marchesa was not to blame.  She undoubtedly carried her idea of Enrica’s subserviency too far; but custom was on her side.  Marriages among persons of high rank are “arranged” in Italy—­arranged by families or by priests, acting as go-betweens.  The lady leaves the convent, and her marriage is arranged.  She is unconscious that she has a heart—­she only discovers that unruly member afterward.  To love a husband is unnecessary; there are so many “golden youths” to choose from.  And the husband has his pastime too.  Cosi fan tutti!  It is a round game!

All this time the cavaliere had never taken his eyes off his friend.  To a certain extent he understood what was passing in her mind.  A portionless niece would reveal her poverty.

“A good marriage is a good thing,” he suggested, as a safe general remark, after having waited in vain for some response.

“In all I do,” the marchesa answered, loftily, “I must first consider what is due to the dignity of my position.”  Trenta bowed.

“Decidedly, marchesa; that is your duty.  But what then?”

“No feeling whatever but that will influence me now, or hereafter—­nothing.”  She dwelt upon the last word defiantly, as the final expression of her mind.  Spite of this defiance, there was, however, a certain hesitation in her manner which did not escape the cavaliere.  As she spoke, she looked hard at him, and touched his arm to arouse his attention.

Trenta, who knew her so well, perfectly interpreted her meaning.  His ruddy cheeks flushed crimson; his kindly eyes kindled; he felt sure that his advice would be accepted.  She was yielding, but he must be most cautious not to let his satisfaction appear.  So strangely contradictory was the marchesa that, although nothing could possibly be more advantageous to her own schemes than this marriage, she might, if indiscreetly pressed, veer round, and, in spite of her interest, refuse to listen to another syllable on the subject.

All this kept the cavaliere silent.  Receiving no answer, she looked suspiciously at him, then grasped his arm tightly.

“And you, cavaliere—­how long have you been so deeply interested in Enrica?  What is she to you?  Her future can only signify to you as far as it affects myself.”