precisely the most cruel because, from me, she deserved the least reproach.  However, I must not extenuate myself, nor forestall my history.  I begged her pardon for my severity and obtained her ready forgiveness.  From that hour forward she kept herself apart from me as my servant, having arranged for her share of his duties with Scipione; and she never by word or look recalled the time when a much closer intimacy had existed between us.

One disturbing incident in my affairs with her must be mentioned in this place, although it did not occur until I had twice waited upon Donna Aurelia.  It was indeed upon my return from the second of those visits that Scipione came into the room after me with some secret or another which he itched, evidently, to impart to me.  After some hesitation, he asked leave to exhibit Virginia to me, dressed, said he, according to the best of his ability as such a fine girl should be dressed.  I nodded my head—­having little attention to give him just then—­and he presently returned, leading Virginia by the hand.

“There, sir,” said the jaunty rogue.  “Now perhaps your honour will say that she is worth looking at.”  I stared at Virginia, who coloured finely, and hung her head.

I must say that, preoccupied as I was, I was astonished at what I saw.  He had transformed her by some means out of a sulky and dejected penitent into a young woman of noble appearance and refined beauty.  I had seen that transformation once before—­at Prato; but here was a more mature and assured fine lady.  She wore her hair over a cushion, a handsome dress of yellow and white brocade upon a quilted petticoat, silk stockings, and high-heeled shoes.  Not only were the clothes fine of their kind and well fitted to her person, but she wore them surprisingly well; their colour set off her clear, chiselled and dark beauty; and that, as if stung by the rivalry, came fiercely out to meet them.  The joy and pride of battle tingled in her cheeks and shone in her eyes.  She was of that aquiline, keen type of feature which we are accustomed to call patrician.  She looked at once superb and secure, at once eager to contend and sure of the prize.  It may have been that, as her name of Strozzi implied, she was a scion of that noble house, sunk by no faults of her own in servitude and obscurity; suffice it to say that she was strikingly handsome and perfectly aware of it.  I was too much astonished to be angry with Scipione, as I might reasonably have been.  Nor could I have had the heart, I acknowledge, to have dashed her natural pleasure at her success by any abrupt expression of annoyance.  I said, “Why, Virginia, you are become a fine lady!” She stepped quickly forward, knelt, and kissed my hand—­an act of humility which touched me.

“Sir,” said Scipione, “I told you that she had the makings.  Your honour can do as you please now, and nobody have a word to say.  I can assure you that the count lost his breath and his heart at once when he saw her.”