He rose quickly as she
passed him, and the blood rushed to his face, up to the very roots of
his hair.
Beatrice was too much of a woman not to see the effect she produced upon
the poor sailor, and she nodded gracefully to him, in acknowledgment of
his politeness in rising. As she did so she noticed on her part that the
poor sailor was indeed a very remarkable specimen of a man, such as she
had not often seen. She stopped and spoke to him.
"Are you the Count of San Miniato's boatman?" she asked in her sweet
voice.
"Yes, Eccellenza," answered Ruggiero, still blushing violently
"Then he has engaged the boat? We want a boat, too--the Marchesa di
Mola--can you get us one?"
"There is my brother, Eccellenza."
"Is he a good sailor?"
"Better than I, Eccellenza."
Beatrice looked at the figure before her and smiled graciously.
"Send him to us at twelve o'clock," she said. "The Marchesa di Mola--do
not forget."
"Yes, Eccellenza."
Ruggiero bowed respectfully, while Beatrice nodded again and passed on.
Then he sat down again and waited, but his fingers no longer moved in
calculations and his expression had changed.
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