n front of the large mirror in her
dressing-chamber while she was prepared for the visit, the same mirror
before which she had sat on the evening of her wedding-day. The Signora
Lucrezia and Gina were alone present. The former was arranging her rich
tresses, whilst Gina handed the signora what things she required--combs,
and the like. Whilst thus engaged, the count entered, dressed.

"Giovanni," exclaimed Adelaide, "Lucrezia thinks that I should wear
something in my hair--a wreath, or my diamond coronet; but I feel tired
already, and wish the dressing was over. Need I be teased with ornaments?"

"My sweet wife, wear what you best like. _You_ need no superficial
adorning."

"You hear, Lucrezia: make haste and finish my hair. Do not put it in curls
to-day; braids are less trouble, and sooner done. You may put aside the
diamond casket, Gina. Oh, there's my darling!" continued the countess,
hearing the baby pass the door with its nurse. "Call him in." The count
himself advanced, opened the door, and took his infant. "The precious,
precious child!" exclaimed Adelaide, bending over the infant, which he
placed on her knees. "Giovanni," she added, looking up eagerly to her
husband's face, "do you think there ever was so lovely a babe sent on
earth?"

He smiled at her earnestness--men are never so rapturously blind in the
worship of their first-born as women. But he stooped down, and fondly
pressed his lips upon her forehead, while he played with the little hand
of the infant; and she yielded to the temptation of suffering her face to
rest close to his.

"But it grows late," resumed the young mother, "and I suppose we ought to
be going. Take the baby to its nurse, Lucrezia," she continued, kissing it
fifty times as she resigned it.

The count had drawn behind the Lady Adelaide, where stood Gina. As his
eyes happened to fall upon her, he was struck by the pallid sorrow which
sat in her countenance. Ill-fated Gina! and he had been so absorbed these
last few weeks in his new happiness! A rush of pity, mingled perhaps with
self-reproach, flew to his heart. What compensation could he offer her? In
that moment he remembered her last words at the interview in his wife's
embroidery-room, and gave her _a look_. It was not to be mistaken.
Love--love, pure and tender--gleamed from his eyes, and she answered him
with a smile which told of her thanks, and that he was perfectly
understood. Had any one been looking on, they could scarcel