Caretto did not speak, but stood playing with his moustache, waiting for Claudia’s reply.  The girl had stood with downcast eyes while her mother was speaking.

“I only expressed what I felt, mother,” she said, after a pause, “and I do not think that Sir Gervaise Tresham is likely to misunderstand me.  It seems to me that never among those whom I have met have I seen one so worthy.  No praises can be higher than those with which my cousin has spoken of him.  He has rescued him, whom we dearly love, from slavery; he has saved Genoa from great disaster, and many towns and villages from plunder and ruin.  I do indeed feel proud that such a knight should wear my gage, and, were there no other reason, I should be unwilling that, so long as he carried it, another should possess a similar one from me.  I am sure that Sir Gervaise will have felt that this was the meaning of my words; I wished him to see that it was not a favour lightly given by a girl who might, a few weeks hence, bestow a similar one upon another, but was a gage seriously given of the honour in which I held him.”

“Very well said, Claudia,” Caretto broke in, before the countess could reply.  “I warrant me the young knight will not misunderstand your gift, and that he will prize it highly and carry it nobly.  He is not one of those who will boast of a favour and display it all times, and, except perhaps to his friend Sir Ralph Harcourt, I will wager he never tells a soul who was its donor.”

When Claudia shortly afterwards left the room, he said to the countess, “Excuse me for breaking in, Agatha, but I felt that it was much better to agree with her, and not to make overmuch of the matter; she is just of an age to make some one a hero, and she could hardly have chosen a better subject for her worship.  In the first place, he is a knight of St. John; in the second, he is going away in a few days, perhaps tomorrow, and may never cross her path again.  The thought of him will prevent her fancy from straying for a time, and keep her heart whole until you decide on a suitor for her hand.”

“Nevertheless, I would rather that it had not been so.  Claudia is not given to change, and this may last long enough to cause trouble when I bring forward the suitor you speak of.”

“Well, in any case it might be worse,” Caretto said philosophically.  And then, with a smile in answer to her look of inquiry, “Knights of the Order have, ere now, obtained release from their vows.”

“Fabricius!” the countess exclaimed, in a shocked voice.

“Yes, I know, Agatha, that the child is one of the richest heiresses in Italy, but for that very reason it needs not that her husband should have wide possessions.  In all other respects you could wish for no better.  He will assuredly be a famous knight; he is the sort of man to make her perfectly happy; and, lastly, you know I cannot forget that I owe my liberation from slavery to him.  At any rate, Agatha, as I said before, he may never cross her path again, and you may, a year or two hence, find her perfectly amenable to your wishes.”