iate above all other men. That you do appreciate it you have
already made evident. There is no need for me to speak about Enrica
herself; you have already judged her. You have, before my eyes,
approached her with the looks and the language of passionate
admiration. It is not given to all men to be so fascinating. I have
seen it with delight. I love her"--his voice broke and shook with
emotion--"I love her as if she were my own child."

All the enthusiasm of which the old chamberlain is capable passes into
his face as he speaks of Enrica. At that moment he really did look as
young as he was continually telling every one that he felt.

"Count Marescotti," he continues, a solemn tone in his voice as he
slowly pronounces the words, raising his head at the same time, and
gazing fixedly into the other's face--Count Marescotti, "I am come
here to propose a marriage between you and Enrica Guinigi. The
marchesa empowers me to say that she constitutes Enrica her sole
heiress, not only of the great Guinigi name, but of the remaining
Guinigi palace, with the portrait of our Castruccio, the heirlooms,
the castle of Corellia, and lands of--"

"Stop, stop, my dear Trenta!" cries the count, holding up both
his hands in remonstrance; "you overwhelm me. I require no such
inducements; they horrify me. Enrica Guinigi is sufficient in
herself--so bright a jewel requires no golden settings."

At these words the cavaliere beams all over. He rubs his fat hands
together, then gently claps them.

"Bravo!--bravo, count! I see you appreciate her. Per Dio! you make me
feel young again! I never was so happy in my life! I should like
to dance! I will dance by-and-by at the wedding. We will open the
state-rooms. There is not a grander suite in all Italy. It is superb.
I will dance a quadrille with the marchesa. Bagatella! I shall insist
on it. I will execute a solo in the figure of the _pastorelle_. I will
show Baldassare and all the young men the finish of the old style.
People did steps then--they did not jump like wild horses--nor knock
each other down. No--then dancing was practised as a fine art."

Suddenly the brisk old cavaliere stops. The expression of Marescotti's
large, earnest eyes, fixed on him wonderingly, recalls him to himself.

"Excuse me, my dear friend; when you are my age, you will better
understand an old man's feelings. We are losing time. Now get your
hat, and come with me at once to Casa Guinigi; the marchesa expects
you