floor beneath, unknown to all save the cavaliere.

"But--a thousand pardons!" cried Marescotti, gradually waking up to
some social energy, "I have been talking only of myself! Talking of
myself in your presence, ladies!--What can we do to amuse your niece,
marchesa? Lucca is horribly dull. If she is to go neither to festivals
nor to balls, it will not be possible for her to exist here."

"It will be quite possible," answered the marchesa, greatly displeased
at the turn the conversation was taking. "Quite possible, if I choose
it. Enrica will exist where I please. You forget she has lived here
for seventeen years. You see she has not died of it. She stays at home
by my order, count."

Enrica cast a pleading look at her aunt, as if to say, "Can I help all
this?" As for Count Marescotti, he was far too much engrossed with his
own thoughts to be aware that he was treading on delicate ground.

"But, marchesa," he urged, "you can't really keep your niece any
longer shut up like the fairy princess in the tower. Let me be
permitted to act the part of the fairy prince and liberate her."

Again he had turned, and again his glowing eyes fixed themselves on
Enrica, who had withdrawn as much as possible behind the curtains. Her
cheeks were dyed with blushes. She shrank from the count's too ardent
glances, as though those glances were an involuntary treason to
Nobili.

"Something must be done," muttered the count, meditating.