The marchesa neither moved nor did she speak. When she felt the warm touch of Enrica's hand within her own, it seemed to rouse her. She drew her toward her and kissed her with more love than she had ever shown before.
"I thank you, Count Nobili," she said, in a strange, cold voice. Even at that moment she could not bring herself to look him in the face. "You have saved my niece's life."
"Madame," replied Nobili, his sweet-toned voice trembling, "I have saved my own. Had Enrica perished, I should not have lived."
In these few words the chivalric nature of the man spoke out. The marchesa waved her hand. She was stately even now. Nobili understood her gesture, and, stung to the very soul, he drew back.
"Permit me," he said, haughtily, before he turned away, "to add my help to those who are laboring to save your house."
The marchesa bowed her head in acquiescence; then, with unsteady steps, she moved backward and seated herself upon the ground.
Pipa, meanwhile, had flung her arms about Enrica, with such an energy that she pinned her to the spot. Pipa pressed her hands about Enrica, feeling every limb; Pipa turned Enrica's white face up ward to the blaze; she stroked her long, fair hair that fell like a mantle round her.
"Blessed Mother!" she sobbed, drawing her coarse fingers through the matted curls, "not a hair singed! Oh, the noble count! Oh, how I love him—"
"No, dear Pipa," Enrica answered, softly, "I am not hurt—only frightened. The fire had but just reached the door when he came. He was just in time."
"To think we had forgotten her!" murmured Pipa, still holding her tightly.