“It is really too much!” she exclaimed.  “Button my gloves, Teresina.  I shall not go after all, not even to please you, dearest friend.  What a place of torture this world is!  How right we are to try and get a comfortable stall in the next!  Go away, San Miniato.  It is quite useless.”

But San Miniato knew what he was doing.  With gentle strength he made her rise from her seat and placed her in the chair.  The porters lifted their burden, settled the straps upon their shoulders, the man in front glanced back at the man behind, both nodded and marched away.

“This is too awful!” sighed the Marchesa, as she was carried out of the door of the sitting room.  “How can you have the heart, dearest friend!  An invalid like me!  And I was supremely comfortable where I was.”

But at this point Beatrice appeared and joined the procession, radiant, fresh as a fragrant wood-flower, full of life as a young bird.  Behind her came Teresina, the maid, necessary at every minute for the Marchesa’s comfort, her pink young cheeks flushed with pleasure and her eyes sparkling with anticipation, fastening on her hat as she walked.

“I was never so happy in my life,” laughed Beatrice.  “And to think that you have really captured mamma in spite of herself!  Oh, mamma, you will enjoy it so much!  I promise you shall.  There is iced champagne, and the foot warmer and the marrons glaces and the lamp and everything you like—­and quails stuffed with truffles, besides.  Now do be happy and let us enjoy ourselves!”

“But where are all these things?” asked the Marchesa.  “I shall believe when I see.”

“Everything is at Tragara already,” answered Beatrice tripping down the stairs beside her mother’s chair.  “And we really will enjoy ourselves,” she added, turning her head with a bewitching smile, and looking back at San Miniato.  “What a general you are!”

“If you could convince the Minister of War of that undoubted fact, you would be conferring the greatest possible favour upon me,” said the Count.  “He would have no trouble in persuading me to return to the army as commander-in-chief, though I left the service as a captain.”

So they went down the long winding way cut through the soft tufo rock and found the boat waiting for them by the little landing.  The Marchesa actually took the trouble to step on board instead of trusting herself to the strong arms of Ruggiero.  Beatrice followed her.  As she set her foot on the gunwale Ruggiero held up his hand towards her to help her.  It was not the first time this duty had fallen to him, but she was more radiantly fresh to-day than he had ever seen her before, and the spasm that seemed to crush his heart for a moment was more violent than usual.  His strong joints trembled at her light touch and his face turned white.  She felt that his hand shook and she glanced at him when she stood in the boat.

“Are you ill, Ruggiero?” she asked, in a kindly tone.