'To wish our pretty little friend good morning, eh, my Dino? Jove, how pretty that girl looked in the firelight singing! But never mind that. You can do something for me before you go there, can't you? Women are never the worse for being kept waiting; in fact, it does them good, and their hearts get softer with time, just as a peach softens when you leave it for a bit to ripen on the tree. I say, Dino, be a good obliging fellow for once. You are not really in a hurry?'
'No, sir.'
'Benissimo! Then you can go and do an errand for me. I want—— Look here; it's a letter I want carried. Rather an important letter. It's—it's a love-letter, in fact,' said Gasparo, beginning to laugh, 'and I want it taken to the woman with the most beautiful eyes in Leghorn—the most beautiful? well, at least I thought so until yesterday. She is—her name is written on the envelope. But it is not to be taken to her house, you understand? She is at Pancaldi's this morning, at the Stabilimento. Go straight in to the platform where the baths are in summer; you'll find her there, looking at the waves.' He laughed, brushing up his moustache. 'So there you are; and now right about face—march! Why, man, what are you staring at? There's the letter; and I say, Dino, mind you give it to her quietly; just slip it into her hand, you know, as if it were the answer to some commission. Faith! they are pretty eyes, if they're not so bright as Italia's.'
Dino turned red; he drew his shoulder away from the Marchese's careless touch.
'I—— You must excuse me, sir,' he said roughly. 'Get some one else to carry your letter. I won't go.'
'Hullo!' The Marchese threw back his head. 'Then—oh, go to the devil!' he said, and turned lightly on his heel.
He walked off for a pace or two and stopped, irresolute. It was really very awkward about that letter. He wanted it taken; he could not carry it himself, and to find another trustworthy messenger at a moment's notice—— He turned back.
'I say, old fellow, don't you think this is treating me rather badly? It is not every one whom I'd ask to do this thing for me, but you—why, we've been boys together, you and I.' A smile lighted up his handsome face. 'I'd do as much for you any day, old Dino; for you and your sweetheart.'
Among all the men of his time, the young Marchese, Gasparo Balbi, was one of the most personally attractive. He was the most popular man in his regiment; he fascinated the very orderly who cleaned his boots, and all women and all children loved him. Wherever he went—in a ballroom, or in the streets,—people turned in the same way to look at him. His mere presence was an irresistible argument. When he talked it is possible that what he said was neither particularly fresh nor particularly new, but that did not matter; his silence and his speech were alike persuasive. He had all the qualities of a ruler and leader of men,—strong animal magnetism, an irresistible audacity, an implacable will. He was like one of the English Stuarts in his wonderful faculty of awakening passionate loyalty and enthusiasm in all who came into personal relations with him; perhaps he was still more like them in his power of using his friends, his capacity for charming and—forgetting.
He stood there now smiling in the sunlight, like a young prince whose good pleasure it is to explain when he need only command.