e. I also bestow on the marchesa's niece the Guinigi Palace
I bought at Lucca--to the marchesa's niece, Enrica Guinigi, and her
heirs forever; also a dowry of fifty thousand francs a year, should
she survive me."

What is it about gold that invests its possessor with such instant
power? Is knowledge power?--or does gold weigh more than brains? I
think so. Gold-pieces and Genius weighed in scales would send poor
Genius kicking!

From the moment Count Nobili had made apparent the wealth which
he possessed, he was master of the situation. The marchesa's quick
perception told her so. While he was accepting all her debts, with the
superb indifference of a millionaire, she grew cold all over.

"Tell the notary," she said, endeavoring to maintain her usual haughty
manner, "to put down that, at my death, I bequeath to my niece all of
which I die possessed--the palace at Lucca, and the heirlooms,
plate, jewels, armor, and the picture of my great ancestor Castruccio
Castracani, to be kept hanging in the place where it now is, opposite
the seigneurial throne in the presence-chamber."

Here she paused. The hasty scratch of Ser Giacomo's pen was heard upon
the parchment. Spite of her efforts to control her feelings, an ashy
pallor spread over the marchesa's face. She grasped her two hands
together so tightly that the finger-tips grew crimson; a nervous
quiver shook her from head to foot. Cavaliere Trenta, who read the
marchesa like a book, watched her in perfect agony. What was going to
happen? Would she faint?

"I also bequeath," continued the marchesa, rising from her seat with
solemn action, and speaking in a low, hushed voice, her eyes fixed on
the floor--"I also bequeath the great Guinigi name and our ancestral
honors to my niece--to bear them after my death, together with her
husband, then to pass to her eldest child. And may that great name be
honored!"

The marchesa reseated herself, raised her thin white hands, and threw
up her eyes to heaven. The sacrifice was made!

"May I call in the lady?" again asked the cavaliere, addressing no one
in particular.

"I will fetch her in," replied Fra Pacifico, rising from his chair.
"She is my spiritual daughter."

No one moved while Fra Pacifico was absent. Ser Giacomo, the notary,
dressed in his Sunday suit of black, remained, pen in hand, staring
at the wall. Never in his humble life had he formed one of such a
distinguished company. All his life Ser Giacomo had heard of