"I am to have the honor of dancing the cotillon with you, I believe?"
he said, still looking down.

"Yes, I believe so," she responded--"at least so I am told; but you
have not asked me yet. Perhaps you would prefer some one else. I
confess _I_ am satisfied."

As she spoke, Nera riveted her full black eyes upon Nobili. If he
only would look up, she would read his thoughts, and tell him her
own thoughts also. But Nobili did not look up; he felt her gaze,
nevertheless; it thrilled him through and through.

At this moment, the melody of a voluptuous waltz, the opening of the
cotillon, burst from the orchestra with an _entrain_ that might have
moved an anchorite. As the sounds struck upon his ear, Nobili grew
dizzy under the magnetism of those unseen eyes. His cheeks flushed
suddenly, and the blood stirred itself tumultuously in his veins.

"Why should I repulse this girl because she loves me?" he asked
himself.

This question came to him, wafted, as it were, upon the wings of the
music.

"Count Nobili, you have not answered me," insisted Nera. She had not
moved. "You are very absent this evening. Do you _wish_ to dance with
me? Tell me."

She dwelt upon the words. Her voice was low and very pleading. Nobili
had not yet spoken.