Denise, the cameriera, noticed the light in the room, entered, and after vainly endeavoring to rouse Henrica, called her mistress.

The latter followed the maid, muttering as she ascended the stairs: 

“Fallen asleep, found the time hang heavy—­that’s all!  She might have been lively and laughed with us!  Stupid race!  ‘Men of butter,’ King Philip says.  That wild Lamperi was really impertinent to-night, and the abbe said things—­things—­”

The old lady’s large eyes were sparkling vinously, and her fan waved rapidly to and fro to cool the flush on her cheeks.

She now stood opposite to Henrica, called her, shook her and sprinkled her with perfumed water from the large shell, set in gold, which hung as an essence bottle from her belt.  When her niece only muttered incoherent words, she ordered the maid to bring her medicine-chest.

Denise had gone and Fraulein Van Hoogstraten now perceived Henrica’s letter, raised it close to her eyes, read page after page with increasing indignation, and at last tossed it on the floor and tried to shake her niece awake; but in vain.

Meantime Belotti had been informed of Henrica’s serious illness and, as he liked the young girl, sent for a physician on his own responsibility, and instead of the family priest summoned Father Damianus.  Then he went to the sick girl’s chamber.

Even before he crossed the threshold, the old lady in the utmost excitement, exclaimed: 

“Belotti, what do you say now, Belotti?  Sickness in the house, perhaps contagious sickness, perhaps the plague.”

“It seems to be only a fever,” replied the Italian soothingly.  “Come, Denise, we will carry the young lady to the bed.

“The doctor will soon be here.”

“The doctor?” cried the old lady, striking her fan on the marble top of the table.  “Who permitted you, Belotti—­”

“We are Christians,” interrupted the servant, not without dignity.

“Very well, very well,” she cried.  “Do what you please, call whom you choose, but Henrica can’t stay here.  Contagion in the house, the plague, a black tablet.”

“Excellenza is disturbing herself unnecessarily.  Let us first hear what the doctor says.”

“I won’t hear him; I can’t bear the plague and the small-pox.  Go down at once, Belotti, and have the sedan-chair prepared.  The old chevalier’s room in the rear building is empty.”

“But, Excellenza, it’s gloomy, and so damp that the north wall is covered with mould.”

“Then let it be aired and cleaned.  What does this delay mean?  You have only to obey.  Do you understand?”

“The chevalier’s room isn’t fit for my mistress’s sick niece,” replied Belotti civilly, but resolutely.

“Isn’t it?  And you know exactly?” asked his mistress scornfully.  “Go down, Denise, and order the sedan-chair to be brought up.  Have you anything more to say, Belotti?”