"My Enrica," he said at last, taking her by the hand and imprinting a kiss upon her forehead, "you are a good child. Heaven bless you, and keep you always as you are!" A conscious blush overspread Enrica's face.
"If he knew all, would he say this?" she asked herself; and her pretty head with the soft curls dropped involuntarily.
Enrica was very simply attired, but the flowing lines of her graceful figure were not to be disguised by any mere accident of dress. A black veil, fastened upon her hair like a mantilla (a style much affected by the Lucca ladies), fell in thick folds upon her shoulders, and partially shaded her face.
Teresa stood by her young mistress, prepared to follow her. Trenta perceived this. He did not like Teresa. If she went with them, the whole conversation might be repeated in Casa Guinigi. This, with Count Marescotti in the company, would be—to say the least of it—inconvenient.
"You may retire," he said to Teresa. "I will take charge of the signorina."
"But—Signore Cavaliere"—and Teresa, feeling the affront, colored scarlet—"the marchesa's positive orders were, I was not to leave the signorina."
"Never mind," answered the cavaliere, authoritatively, "I will take that on myself. You can retire."
Teresa, swelling with anger, remained in the court. The cavaliere offered his arm to Enrica. She turned and addressed a few words to the exasperated Teresa; then, led by Trenta, she passed into the street. Upon the threshold, Count Marescotti met them.
"This is indeed an honor," he said, addressing Enrica—his face beamed, and he bowed to the ground. "I trembled lest the marchesa should have forbidden your coming."
"So did I," answered Enrica, frankly. "I am so glad. I fear that my aunt is not altogether pleased; but she has said nothing, and I came."