"How well you say it all!" she exclaimed.
"And you consent, dear Marchesa?" asked the Count, with an eagerness
not all feigned.
"You say it all so well! If I could say it half so well to
Beatrice--there might be some possibility. But Beatrice is not like
me--nor I like you--and so--"
She broke off in the middle of the sentence with an indolent little
laugh.
"If she were like you," said San Miniato, "I would not hesitate long."
There was an intonation in his voice that pleased the middle-aged woman,
as he had intended.
"What would you do?" she asked, fanning herself slowly in the dark.
"I would speak to her myself."
"Heavens!" Again the Marchesa laughed. The idea seemed eccentric enough
in her eyes.
"Why not?"
"Why not? Dearest San Miniato, do not try to make me argue such insane
questions with you. You know how lazy I am. I can never talk."
"A woman need not talk in order to be persuaded. It is enough that the
man should. Let me try."
"I will shut my ears."
"I will kneel at your feet."
"I shall go to sleep."
"I could wake you."
"How?"
"By telling you that I mean to speak to Donna Beatrice myself.
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