They were admitted to the presence of the Marchesa di Mola in due time. She lay in a deep chair under the arches of her terrace, shaded by brown linen curtains, languid, idle, indifferent as ever.
"Beatrice!" she called in a lazy tone, as the two men stood still at a respectful distance, waiting to be addressed.
But instead of Beatrice, a maid appeared at a door at the other end of the terrace—a fresh young thing with rosy cheeks, brown hair, sparkling black eyes and a pretty figure.
"Call Donna Beatrice," said the Marchesa. Then, as though exhausted by the effort of speaking she closed her eyes and waited.
The maid cast a quick glance at the two handsome sailors and disappeared again. Ruggiero and Sebastiano stood motionless, only their eyes turning from side to side and examining everything with the curiosity habitual in seamen.
Presently Beatrice entered, looked at them both for a moment and then went up to her mother.
"It is for the boat, mamma," she said. "Do you wish me to arrange about it?"
"Of course," answered the Marchesa opening her eyes and immediately shutting them again.
Beatrice stepped aside and beckoned the two men to her. To Ruggiero's infinite surprise, he again felt the blood rushing to his face, and his heart began to pound his ribs like a fuller's hammer. He glanced at his brother and saw that he was perfectly self-possessed. Beatrice looked from one to the other in perplexity.
"You are so much alike!" she exclaimed. "With which of you did I speak this morning?"