In the morning, the countess being invisible, I watched my man spreading out my suits over the chairs, amongst them being some handsome women’s cloaks, and a rich red dress deeply trimmed with fur, which had been originally intended for the luckless Corticelli. I should no doubt have given it to Agatha, if I had continued to live with her, and I should have made a mistake, as such a dress was only fit for a lady of rank.
At one o’clock I received another visit from the count, who told me that the countess was going to introduce me to their best friend. This was the Marquis Triuizi, a man of about, my own age, tall, well made, squinting slightly, and with all the manner of a nobleman. He told me that besides coming to have the honour of my acquaintance, he also came to enjoy the fire, “for,” said he, “there’s only one fireplace in the house and that’s in your room.”
As all the chairs were covered, the marquis drew the countess on to his knee and made her sit there like a baby; but she blushed, and escaped from his grasp. The marquis laughed heartily at her confusion, and she said,—
“Is it possible that a man of your years has not yet learnt to respect a woman?”
“Really, countess,” said he, “I thought it would be very disrespectful to continue sitting while you were standing.”
While Clairmont was taking the clothes off the chairs, the marquis noticed the mantles and the beautiful dress, and asked me if I were expecting a lady.
“No,” said I, “but I hope to find someone at Milan who will be worthy of such presents.” I added, “I know the Prince Triulzi, at Venice; I suppose he is of your family?”
“He says he is, and it may be so; but I am certainly not a member of his family.”
This let me know that I should do well to say no more about the prince.
“You must stay to dinner, marquis,” said Count A—— B——; “and as you only like dishes prepared by your own cook you had better send for them.”