"Better than I, Eccellenza."

Beatrice looked at the figure before her and smiled graciously.

"Send him to us at twelve o'clock," she said. "The Marchesa di Mola--do
not forget."

"Yes, Eccellenza."

Ruggiero bowed respectfully, while Beatrice nodded again and passed on.
Then he sat down again and waited, but his fingers no longer moved in
calculations and his expression had changed. He sat still and stared in
the direction of the corner beyond which the young girl had disappeared.
He was conscious for the first time in his life that he possessed a
heart, for the thing thumped and kicked violently under his blue
guernsey, and he looked down at his broad chest with an odd expression
of half-childish curiosity, fully expecting to see an outward and
visible motion corresponding with the inward hammering. But he saw
nothing. Solid ribs and solid muscles kept the obstreperous machine in
its place.

"Malora!" he ejaculated to himself. "Worse than a cat in a sack!"

His hands, too, were quite cold, though it was a warm day. He noticed
the fact as he passed his thumb for the hundredth time round his neck
where the hard wool scratched him. To tell the truth he was somewhat
alarmed. He had never been ill a day in his life, had never had as much
as a headache, a bad cold or a touch of fever, and he began to think
that something must be wrong. He said to himself that if such a thing
happened to him again he would go to the chemist and ask for some