ut 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
could not deny it.

"You are embarrassed by lawsuits. Unfortunately, all have gone against
you."

"I fought for the ancient privileges of the Guinigi!" burst out the
marchesa, imperiously. "I would do it again."

"I do not in the least doubt you would do it again, exalted lady,"
responded Trenta, with a quiet smile. "Indeed, I feel assured of it.
I merely state the fact. You have sacrificed large sums of money. You
have lost every suit. The costs have been enormous. Your income is
greatly reduced. Enrica is therefore portionless."

"No, no, not altogether." The marchesa moved nervously in her chair,
carefully avoiding meeting Trenta's steely blue eyes. "I have saved
money, Cesarino--I have indeed," she repeated. The marchesa was
becoming quite affable. "I cannot touch the heirlooms. But Enrica will
have a small portion."

"Well, well," replied Trenta. "But it is impossible you can have saved
much since the termination of that last long suit with the chapter
about your right to the second bench in the nave of the cathedral, the
bench awarded to Count Nobili when he bought the palace. The expense
was too great, and the trial too recent."

She made no reply.

"Then there was that other affair with the municipality about the
right of flying the flag from the Guinigi Tower. I do not mention
small affairs, such as disputes with your late steward at Corellia,
trials at Barga, nor litigation here at Lucca on a small scale. My
dear marchesa, you have found the law an expensive pastime." The
cavaliere's round eyes twinkled as he said this. "Enrica is therefore
virtually portionless. The choice lies between a husband who will wed
her for herself, or a convent. If I understand your views, a convent
would not suit you. Besides, you would not surely voluntarily condemn
a girl, without vocation, and brought up beside you, to the seclusion
of a convent?"

"But Enrica is a child--I tell you she is too young to think about
marriage, cavaliere."

The marchesa spoke with anger. She would stave off as long as possible
the principal question--that of marriage. Sudden proposals,
too, emanating from others, always nettled her; it narrowed her
prerogative.

"Besides," objected the marchesa, still fencing with the real
question,