“It is very good of you,” said San Miniato.

The Marchesa smiled and sank into a chair.  Beatrice struck a few chords and then, looking at the Count with half closed eyes, began to sing the pathetic little song of Chiquita.

   “On dit que l’on te marie
   Tu sais que j’en vais mourir—­”

Her voice was very sweet and true and there was real pathos in the words as she sang them.  But as she went on, San Miniato noticed first that she repeated the second line, and then that she sang all the remaining melody to it, singing it over and over again with an amazing variety of expression, angrily, laughingly, ironically and sadly.

   “—­Tu sais que j’en vais mourir!”

She ended, with a strange burst of passion.

She rose suddenly to her feet and shut the lid down sharply upon the key-board.

“How perfectly we understand each other, do we not?” she said sweetly, a moment later, and meeting San Miniato’s eyes.

“I hope we always shall,” he answered quietly, pretending not to have understood.

She left him with her mother and went out upon the terrace and looked down at the black water deep below and at the lights of the yachts and the far reflections of the stars upon the smooth bay, and at the distant light on Capo Miseno.  The night air soothed her a little, and when dinner was announced and the three sat down to the table at the other end of the terrace her face betrayed neither discontent nor emotion, and she joined in the conversation indifferently enough, so that San Miniato and her mother thought her more than usually agreeable.

At the appointed time the two porters appeared with the Marchesa’s chair, and Teresina brought in wraps and shawls, quite useless on such a night, and the little party left the room in procession, as they had done a few days earlier when they started for Tragara.  But their mood was very different to-night.  Even the Marchesa forgot to complain and let herself be carried down without the least show of resistance.  On the first excursion none of them had quite understood the other, and all of them except poor Ruggiero had been in the best of humours.  Now they all understood one another too well, and they were silent and uneasy when together.  They hardly knew why they were going, and San Miniato almost regretted having persuaded them.  Doubtless the crabs were numerous along the rocky shore and they would catch hundreds of them before midnight.  Doubtless also, the said crustaceans would be very good to eat on the following day.  But no one seemed to look forward to the delight of the sport or of the dish afterwards, excepting Teresina and Bastianello who whispered together as they followed last.  Ruggiero went in front carrying a lantern, and when they reached the pier it was he who put the party on board, made the skiff fast astern of the sailboat and jumped upon the stern, himself the last of all.