ll this had been effected,
therefore she regarded Enrica at this time with more consideration
than she had ever done before. As to any real sentiments of affection,
the marchesa was incapable of them--a cold, hard woman from her youth,
now vindictive, as well as cold.

The day after the signing of the contract she called Enrica to her.
Enrica trod lightly across the stuccoed floor to where her aunt was
standing; then she stopped and waited for her to address her. The
marchesa took Enrica's hand within her own for some minutes, and
silently stroked each rosy finger.

"My child Enrica, are you content?" This question was accompanied by
an inquiring look, as if she would read Enrica through and through. A
sweet smile of ineffable happiness stole over Enrica's soft face. The
marchesa, still holding her hand, uttered something which might
almost be called a sigh. "I hope this will last, else--" She broke off
abruptly.

Enrica, resenting the implied doubt, disengaged her hand, and drew
back from her. The marchesa, not appearing to observe this, continued:

"I had other views for you, Enrica; but, before you knew any thing,
you chose a husband for yourself. What do you know about a husband? It
is a bad choice."

Again Enrica drew back still farther from her aunt, and lifted up her
head as if in remonstrance. But the marchesa was not to be stopped.

"I hate Count Nobili!" she burst out. "I have had my eye upon him ever
since he came to Lucca. I know him--you do not. It is possible he may
change, but if he does not--"

For the second time the marchesa did not finish the sentence.

"And do you think he loves you?"

As she asked this question she seated herself, and contemplated Enrica
with a cynical smile.

"Yes, he loves me. It is you who do not know him!" exclaimed Enrica.
"He is so good, so generous, so true; there is no one in the world
like him."

How pure Enrica looked, pleading for her lover!--her face thrown out
in sharp profile against the dark wall; her short upper lip raised
by her eager speech; the dazzling fairness of her complexion; and her
soft hair hanging loose about her head and neck.

"I think I do--I think I know him better than you do," the marchesa
answered, somewhat absently.

She was struck by Enrica's exceeding beauty, which seemed within the
last few days to have suddenly developed and matured.

"The young man appreciates you, too, I do not doubt. I am told he is a
lover of beauty."