The Marchesa Boccarini had already arrived, accompanied by her three
daughters. They are seated near the door leading from the first
saloon, where Countess Orsetti is stationed. In front of them is
a group of flowering plants and palm-trees. Madame Boccarini peers
through the leaves, glass in eye. As a general scans the advance
of the enemy's troops from behind an ambush, calculates what their
probable movements will be, and how he can foil them--either by open
attack or feigned retreat, skirmish or manoeuvre--so Madame Boccarini
scans the various arrivals between the dark-green foliage.

To her every young and pretty woman is a rival to her daughters; if
a rival, an enemy--if an enemy, to be annihilated if possible, or at
least disabled, and driven ignominiously from the field.

It is well known that the Boccarini girls are poor. They will have no
portions--every one understands that. The Boccarini girls must marry
as they can; no priest will interest himself in their espousals. It
was this that made Nera so attractive. She was perfectly natural and
unconventionally bold--"like an English mees," it was said--with
looks of horror. (The Americans have much to answer for; they have
emancipated young ladies; all their sins, and our own to boot, we have
to answer for abroad.)

The Boccarini were in reality so poor that it was no uncommon thing
for them to remain at home because they could not afford to buy new
dresses in which to display themselves. (Poor Madame Boccarini felt
this far more than the girls did themselves.) To be seen more than
thrice in the same dress is impossible. Lucca is so small, every one's
clothes are known. There was no throwing dust in the eyes of dear