The marchesa had come by this time to look on the count as a bore, of whom she was anxious to rid herself. She was so anxious, indeed, to rid herself of him that she actually assented.
"My niece, Signore Conte," she said, stiffly, "shall be ready with her gouvernante and the Cavaliere Trenta, at eleven o'clock to-morrow. Now—good-night!"
Marescotti took the hint, bowed, and departed arm-in-arm with
Baldassare.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE CABINET COUNCIL.
When the count and Baldassare had left the room, Cavaliere Trenta made no motion to follow them. On the contrary, he leaned back in the chair on which he was seated, and nursed his leg with the nankeen trouser meditatively. The expression of his face showed that his thoughts were busy with some project he desired to communicate. Until he had done so in his own way, and at his own time, he would continue to sit where he was. It was this imperturbable self-possession and good-humor combined which gave him so much influence over the irascible marchesa. They were as iron to fire, only the iron was never heated.
The marchesa, deeply resenting his remarks upon her whist playing, tapped her foot impatiently on the floor, fanned herself, and glowered at him out of the darkness which the single pair of candles did not dispel. As he still made no motion to go, she took out her watch, looked at it, and, with an exclamation of surprise, rose. Quite useless. Trenta did not stir.
"Marchesa," he said at last, abruptly, raising his head and looking at her, "do me the favor to sit down. Spare me a few moments before you retire."
"I want to go to bed," she answered, rudely. "It is already past my usual hour."
"Marchesa—one moment. I permitted myself the liberty of an old friend just now—to check your speech to Count Marescotti."