As Enrica rose to obey her aunt, the sound of feet was heard in the
anteroom. The marchesa made a sign to her to reseat herself, which she
did in the same place as before, behind the thick cotton curtains of
the Venetian casement.




CHAPTER VII.

COUNT MARESCOTTI.


Count Marescotti, the Red count (the marchesa had said _sans-culotte_;
Trenta had spoken of him as an atheist), was, unhappily, something
of all this, but he was much more. He was a poet, an orator, and a
patriot. Nature had gifted him with qualities for each vocation. He
had a rich, melodious voice, with soft inflections; large dark eyes,
that kindled with the impress of every emotion; finely-cut features,
and a pale, bloodless face, that tells of a passionate nature. His
manners were gracious, and he had a commanding presence. He was born
to be a leader among men. Not only did he converse with ease and
readiness on every conceivable topic--not only did strophe after
strophe of musical verse flow from his lips with the facility of
an _improvisatore_, but he possessed the supreme art of moving the
multitude by an eloquence born of his own impassioned soul. While that
suave voice rung in men's ears, it was impossible not to be convinced
by his arguments. As a patriot, he worshiped Italy. His fervid
imagination reveled in her natural beauties--art, music, history,