CHAPTER VII.

“I thought I was never to see you again,” observed the Marchesa, as Beatrice and San Miniato came to her side.

“Judging from your calm, you were bearing the separation with admirable fortitude,” answered the Count.

“Dearest friend, one has to bear so much in this life!”

Beatrice stood beside the table, resting one hand upon it and looking back towards the place where she had been sitting.  San Miniato took the Marchesa’s hand and raised it to his lips, pressed it a little and then nodded slowly, with a significant look.  The Marchesa’s sleepy eyes opened suddenly with an expression of startled satisfaction, and she returned the pressure of the fingers with more energy than San Miniato had suspected.  She was evidently very much pleased.  Perhaps the greatest satisfaction of all was the certainty that she was to have no more trouble in the matter, since it had been undertaken, negotiated and settled by the principals between them.  Then she raised her eyebrows and moved her head a little as though to inquire what had taken place, but San Miniato made her understand by a sign that he could not speak before Beatrice.

“Beatrice, my angel,” said the Marchesa, with more than usual sweetness, “you have sat so long upon that rock that you have almost reconciled me to Tragara.  Do you not think that you could go back and sit there five minutes longer?”

Beatrice glanced quickly at her mother and then at San Miniato and turned away without a word, leaving the two together.

“And now, San Miniato carissimo,” said the Marchesa, “sit down beside me on that chair, and tell me what has happened, though I think I already understand.  You have spoken to Beatrice?”

“I have spoken—­yes—­and the result is favourable.  I am the happiest of men.”

“Do you mean to say that she answered you at once?” asked the Marchesa, affecting, as usual, to be scandalised.

“She answered me—­yes, dear Marchesa—­she told me that she loved me.  It only remains for me to claim the maternal blessing which you so generously promised in advance.”

Somehow it was a relief to him to return to the rather stiff and over-formal phraseology which he always used on important occasions when speaking to her, and which, as he well knew, flattered her desire to be thought a very great lady.

“As for my blessing, you shall have it, and at once.  But indeed, I am most curious to know exactly what she said, and what you said—­I, who am never curious about anything!”

“Two words tell the story.  I told her I loved her and she answered that she loved me.”

“Dearest friend, how long it took you to say those two words!  You must have hesitated a good deal.”

“To tell the truth, there was more said than that.  I will not deny the grave imputation.  I spoke of my past life—­”