"I thought," said the Marchesa, "that you were not to give us any
comments." She dropped the words one or two at a time between the puffs
of her cigarette.
"A question is not a comment, mamma. I ask for instruction."
"Go on, dearest friend," said her mother to the Count. "She is
incorrigible."
"On the contrary, Donna Beatrice fills my empty head with ideas. The
question was to the point. All men feel the charm of such women as all
men smell the orange blossoms here in May--"
"The language of flowers again!" laughed Beatrice.
"You are so like a flower," answered San Miniato softly.
"Am I?" She laughed again, then grew grave and looked away.
Ruggiero's hand shook on the heavy tiller, and San Miniato, who supposed
he was steering all the time, turned suddenly.
"What is the matter?" he asked.
"The rudder is draking, Excellency," answered Ruggiero.
"And what does that mean?" asked Beatrice.
"It means that the rudder trembles as the boat rises and falls with each
sea, when there is a good breeze," answered Ruggiero.
"Is there any danger?" asked Beatrice indifferently.
"What danger could there be, Excellency?" asked the sailor.
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