ur little plan for to-morrow?"

The marchesa had come by this time to look on the count as a bore, of
whom she was anxious to rid herself. She was so anxious, indeed, to
rid herself of him that she actually assented.

"My niece, Signore Conte," she said, stiffly, "shall be ready with
her gouvernante and the Cavaliere Trenta, at eleven o'clock to-morrow.
Now--good-night!"

Marescotti took the hint, bowed, and departed arm-in-arm with
Baldassare.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE CABINET COUNCIL.

When the count and Baldassare had left the room, Cavaliere Trenta made
no motion to follow them. On the contrary, he leaned back in the chair
on which he was seated, and nursed his leg with the nankeen trouser
meditatively. The expression of his face showed that his thoughts were
busy with some project he desired to communicate. Until he had done so
in his own way, and at his own time, he would continue to sit where he
was. It was this imperturbable self-possession and good-humor combined
which gave him so much influence over the irascible marchesa. They
were as iron to fire, only the iron was never heated.

The marchesa, deeply resenting his remarks upon her whist playing,
tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, fanned herself, and glowered
at him out of the darkness which the single pair of candles did not
dispel. As he still made no motion to go, she took out her watch,
looked at it, and, with an exclamation of surprise, rose. Quite
useless. Trenta did not stir.

"Marchesa," he said at last, abruptly, raising his head and looking at
her, "do me the favor to sit down. Spare me a few moments before you
retire."

"I want to go to bed," she answered, rudely. "It is already past my
usual hour."

"Marchesa--one moment. I permitted myself the liberty of an old friend
just now--to check your speech to Count Marescotti."

"Yes," said she, drawing up her long throat, and throwing back her
head, an action habitual to her when displeased, "you did so. I did
not understand it. We have been acquainted quite long enough for you
to know I do not like interference."

"Pardon me, noble lady"--(Trenta spoke very meekly--to soothe her
now was absolutely necessary)--"pardon me, for the sake of my good
intentions."

"And pray what _were_ your good intentions, cavaliere?" she asked, in
a mocking tone, reseating herself. Her curiosity was rapidly getting
the better of her resentment.

As she asked the question, the cavaliere left off