This headpiece having been adjusted the Marchesa
asked for a cigarette, lighted it and looked about her.
"It is really too much!" she exclaimed. "Button my gloves, Teresina. I
shall not go after all, not even to please you, dearest friend. What a
place of torture this world is! How right we are to try and get a
comfortable stall in the next! Go away, San Miniato. It is quite
useless."
But San Miniato knew what he was doing. With gentle strength he made her
rise from her seat and placed her in the chair. The porters lifted their
burden, settled the straps upon their shoulders, the man in front
glanced back at the man behind, both nodded and marched away.
"This is too awful!" sighed the Marchesa, as she was carried out of the
door of the sitting room. "How can you have the heart, dearest friend!
An invalid like me! And I was supremely comfortable where I was."
But at this point Beatrice appeared and joined the procession, radiant,
fresh as a fragrant wood-flower, full of life as a young bird. Behind
her came Teresina, the maid, necessary at every minute for the
Marchesa's comfort, her pink young cheeks flushed with pleasure and her
eyes sparkling with anticipation, fastening on her hat as she walked.
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