Your language delights me--it is the
language of the heart. Pray give me one of those little cigarettes you
smoke. Yes--and a light--and now the least drop of champagne. I will
drink your health."
"And I both yours and Beatrice's," answered San Miniato, filling his own
glass.
"You may put Beatrice first, since she is yours."
"But without you there would be no Beatrice, gentilissima," said the
Count gallantly, when he had emptied his glass.
"That is true, and pretty besides. And so," continued the Marchesa in a
tone of languid reflection, "you have actually been making love to my
daughter, beyond my hearing, alone on the rocks--and I gave you my
permission, and now you are engaged to be married! It is too
extraordinary to be believed. That was not the way I was married. There
was more formality in those days."
Indeed, she could not imagine the deceased Granmichele throwing himself
upon his knees at her feet, even upon the softest of carpets.
"Then I thank the fates that those days are over!" returned San Miniato.
"Perhaps I should, too. I am not sure that the conclusion would have
been so satisfactory, if I had undertaken to persuade Beatrice.
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