"That's the man for the people!"--Cassandra still speaks under her
breath.--"He'll give us a republic yet."

Following close on Count Marescotti comes Count Nobili. There are ease
and conscious strength and freedom in his every movement. He pauses
for a moment on the uppermost step under the central arch of the
atrium and gazes round. The sun strikes upon his fresh-complexioned
face and lights up his fair hair and restless eyes.--It is clear
to see no care has yet troubled that curly head of his.--Nobili
is closely followed by a lady of mature age, dark, thin, and
sharp-featured. She has a glass in her eye, with which she peers at
every thing and everybody. This is the Marchesa Boccarini. She is
followed by her three daughters; two of them of no special attraction,
but the youngest, Nera, dark and strikingly handsome. These three
young ladies, all matrimonially inclined, but Nera specially, had
carefully watched the instant when Nobili left his seat. Then they had
followed him closely. It was intended that he should escort them home.
Nera has already decided what she will say to him touching the Orsetti
ball that evening and the cotillon, which she means to dance with
him if she can. But Nobili, with whom they come up under the portico,
merely responds to their salutation with a low bow, raises his hat,
and stands aside to make way for them. He does not even offer to hand
them to their carriage. They pass, and are gone.

As Count Nobili descends the three steps into the piazza, he is
conscious that all eyes are fixed upon him; that every head is
uncovered. He pauses, casts his eyes round at the upturned faces,
raises his hat and smiles, then puts his hand into his pocket, and
takes out a gold-piece, which he gives to the nearest beggar. The
beggar, seizing the gold-piece, blesses him, and hopes that "Heaven