"Only a child in your eyes, Signora Marchesa," rejoined Trenta,
warmly. (He had warmed with his own convictions, his benevolent heart
was deeply interested in Enrica. He had known her since she had first
come to Casa Guinigi, a baby; from his soul he pitied her.) "In the
eyes of the world Enrica is not only a woman, but promises to be a
very lovely one. She is seventeen years old, and marriageable. Young
ladies of her name and position must have fortunes, or they do not
marry well. If they do, it is a chance--quite a chance. Under these
circumstances, it would be cruel to deprive her of so suitable an
alliance as Count Marescotti. Now, allow me to ask you, seriously, how
would this marriage suit you?"

"Not at all," replied the marchesa, curtly. "The count is a
republican. I hate republicans. The Guinigi have always been
Ghibelline, and loyal. I dislike him, too, personally. I was about to
desire you never to bring him here again. Contact with low people has
spoiled him. His manners are detestable."

"But, marchesa, che vuole?" Trenta shrugged his shoulders. "He belongs
to one of the oldest families in Rome; he is well off, handsome (he
reminds me of your ancestor, Castruccio Castracani); a wife might
improve him." The marchesa shook her head.

"He like the great Castruccio!--I do not see it."

"Permit me," resumed Trenta, "without entering into details which, as
a friend, you have confided to me, I must remind you that your affairs
are seriously embarrassed."

The marchesa winced; she guessed what was coming. She knew that she