Beatrice tripping down the
stairs beside her mother's chair. "And we really will enjoy ourselves,"
she added, turning her head with a bewitching smile, and looking back at
San Miniato. "What a general you are!"

"If you could convince the Minister of War of that undoubted fact, you
would be conferring the greatest possible favour upon me," said the
Count. "He would have no trouble in persuading me to return to the army
as commander-in-chief, though I left the service as a captain."

So they went down the long winding way cut through the soft tufo rock
and found the boat waiting for them by the little landing. The Marchesa
actually took the trouble to step on board instead of trusting herself
to the strong arms of Ruggiero. Beatrice followed her. As she set her
foot on the gunwale Ruggiero held up his hand towards her to help her.
It was not the first time this duty had fallen to him, but she was more
radiantly fresh to-day than he had ever seen her before, and the spasm
that seemed to crush his heart for a moment was more violent than usual.
His strong joints trembled at her light touch and his face turned white.
She felt that his hand shook and she glanced at him when she stood in
the boat.

"Are you ill, Ruggiero?" she asked, in a kindly tone.

"No, Excellency," he answered in a low voice that was far from steady,
while the shadow of a despairing smile flickered over his features.

He put up his hand to help Teresina, the maid. She pressed it hard as
she jumped down, and smiled with much intention at the handsome sailor.
But she got no answer for her look, and he turned away and shoved the
boat off the little stone pier. Bastianello was watching them both, and
wishing himself in Ruggiero's place. But Ruggiero, as he believed, had
loved the pretty Teresina first, and Ruggiero had the first right to
win her if he could.

So the boat shot out upon the crisping water into the light afternoon
breeze, and up went foresail and mainsail and jib, and away she went on
the port tack, San Miniato steering and talking to Beatrice--which
things are not to be done together with advantage--the Marchesa lying
back in a cane rocking-chair and thinking of nothing, while Teresina
held the parasol over her mistress's head and shot bright glances at the
sailors forward. And Ruggiero and Bastianello sat side by side amidships
looking out at the gleaming sea to windward.

"What hast thou?" asked Bastianello in a low voice.

"The pa