Nobili knit his brows. This was hard from her.
"What reason do you give for this?" he asked, trying to master his feelings. "I came to ask you this."
"Reason, my dear count?" and a smile parted Nera's lips. "A very obvious reason. Why force me to name it? No one can respect you if you make such a marriage. You will be always liked—you are so charming." She paused to fling an amorous glance upon him. "Why did you select the Guinigi girl?" The question was sharply put. "The marchesa would never receive you. Why choose her niece?"
"Because I liked her." Nobili was driven to bay. "A man chooses the woman he likes."
"How strange!" exclaimed Nera, throwing up her hands. "How strange!—A pale-faced school-girl! But—ha! ha!"—(that discordant laugh almost betrayed her)—"she is not so, it seems."
Nobili changed color. With every word Nera uttered, he grew hot or cold, soothed or wild, by turns. Nera watched it all. She read Nobili like a book.
"How cunning Enrica Guinigi must be!—very cunning!" Nera repeated as if the idea had just struck her. "The marchesa's tool!—They are so poor!—Her niece! Chè vuole!—The family blood! Anyhow, Enrica has caught you, Nobili."
Nera leaned back, drew out a fan from behind a cushion, and swayed it to and fro.
"Not yet," gasped Nobili—"not yet."
And Nobili had listened to Nera's cruel words, and had not risen up and torn out the lying tongue that uttered them! He had sat and heard Enrica torn to pieces as a panting dove is severed by a hawk limb by limb! Even now Nobili's better nature, spite of the glamour of this woman, told him he was a coward to listen to such words, but his good angel had veiled her wings and fled.