"Beautiful peasant," he said, "I salute you. This is for your mother," and he placed some notes in her hand.
The girl thanked him, coloring as red as the peaches in her basket, then, hastily turning the corner of the street, disappeared.
"A perfect Pomona! I make a point of honoring beauty whenever I find it," exclaimed the count, looking after her. He cast a reproving glance at Baldassare, who stood with his eyes wide open. "The Greeks worshiped beauty—I agree with them. Beauty is divine. What say you? Were not the Greeks right?"
The words were addressed to Baldassare—the sense and the direction of his eyes pointed to Enrica.
"Yes; beauty," replied Baldassare, smoothing his glossy mustache, and trying to look very wise (he was not in the least conscious of the covert rebuke administered by Marescotti)—"beauty is very refreshing, but I must say I prefer it in the upper classes. For my part, I like beauty that can dance—wooden shoes are not to my taste."
"Ah! canaglia!" muttered the cavaliere, "there is no teaching you. You will never be a gentleman."
Baldassare was dumbfounded. He had not a word to reply.
"Count"—and the old chamberlain, utterly disregarding the dismay of poor Adonis, who never clearly understood what he had done to deserve such severity, now addressed himself to Marescotti—"will you be visible to-morrow after breakfast? If so, I shall have the honor of calling on you."
"With pleasure," was the count's reply.
Enrica stood apart. She had not spoken one word since the disappearance of the sonnet—that sonnet which would have told her of her future; for had not Marescotti, by some occult power, read her secret? Alas! too, was she not about to reenter her gloomy home without catching so much as a glimpse of Nobili? Count Marescotti had no opportunity of saying a word to Enrica that was not audible to all. He did venture to ask her if she would be present next evening, if he joined the marchesa's rubber? Before she could reply, Trenta had hastily answered for her, that "he would settle all that with the count when they met in the morning." So, standing in the street, they parted. Count Marescotti sought in vain for one last glance from Enrica. When he turned round to look for Baldassare, Baldassare had disappeared.