posing that hers
would be offered to him. In this he was mistaken, however, for she gave
him the ends of her fingers.

"Good morning," she said gently.

The Marchesa looked at her, for she had not expected that she would
speak first and certainly not in so gentle a tone. San Miniato inquired
how the two ladies had slept.

"Admirably," said Beatrice.

"Ah--as for me, dearest friend," said the Marchesa, "you know what a
nervous creature I am. I never sleep."

"You look as though you had rested wonderfully well," observed Beatrice
to San Miniato. "Half a century, at least!"

"Do I?" asked the Count, delighted by her manner and quite without
suspicion.

"Yes. You look twenty years younger."

"About ten years old?" suggested San Miniato with a smile.

"Oh no! I did not mean that. You look about twenty, I should say."

"I am charmed," he answered, without wincing.

"It may be only those beautiful new clothes you have on," said Beatrice
with a sweet smile. "Clothes make so much difference with a man."

San Miniato did not show any annoyance, but he made no direct answer and
turned to the Marchesa.

"Marchesa gentilissima," he said, "you liked my last excursion, or were
good enough to say that you liked it. Would you be horrified if I
proposed another for this evening--but not so far, this time?"

"Absolutely horrified," answered the Marchesa. "But I suppose that if
you have made up your mind you will bring those dreadful men with their
chair, like two gendarmes, and they will take me away, whether I like it
or not. Is that what you mean to do?"

"Of course, dearest Marchesa," he replied.

"Donna Beatrice has taught me that there is no other way of
accomplishing the feat. And certainly no other way could give you so
little trouble."

"What is the excursion to be, and where?" asked Beatrice pretending a
sudden interest.

"Crab-hunting along the shore, with torches. It is extremely amusing, I
am told."

"After horrid red things that run sidewise and are full of legs!" The
Marchesa was disgusted.

"They are green when they run about, mamma," observed Beatrice. "I
believe it is the cooking that makes them red. It will be delightful,"
she added, turning to San Miniato. "Does one walk?"

"Walk!" exclaimed the Marchesa, a new horror rising before her mental
vision.

"We go in boats," said San Miniato. "In the sail boat first and then in
a little one to find the crabs. I suppose, Marchesa carissima, that