"I have been absent," he replied, much confused.
"Yes, absent in mind and body," and Nera laughed a cruel little laugh. "You have been at Corellia, I believe?" she added, significantly, fixing him with her lustrous eyes.
"Yes, I have been at Corellia, shooting." Nobili shrank from shame at the lack of courtesy on his part which had made these social lies needful. How brilliant Nera was!
A type of perfect womanhood. Fresh, and strong, and healthy—a mother for heroes.
"We have heard of you," went on Nera, throwing her grand head backward, a quiet deliberation in each word, as if she were dropping them out, word by word, like poison. "A case of Perseus and Andromeda, only you rescued the lady from the flames. You half killed me, Count Nobili, and en revanche you have saved another lady. She must be very grateful."
"O Nera!" one of her sisters exclaimed, reproachfully. These innocent sisters never could accommodate themselves to Nera's caustic tongue.
Nera gave her sister a look. She rose at once; then the other sister rose also. They both slipped out of the room.
"Now," thought the marchesa, "I must go, too."
"May I be permitted," she said, rising, "before I leave the room to speak to my confessor, who is waiting for me, on a matter of business"—this was an excellent sham, and sounded decorous and natural—"may I be permitted, Count Nobili, to congratulate you on your approaching marriage? I do not know Enrica Guinigi, but I hear that she is lovely."
Nobili bowed with evident constraint.