The quarter-past twelve had not struck, when the Diva heard a knock at the door of her apartment.

CHAPTER IV

Throwing the Line

In the next instant Bianca heard the door of the room in which she was sitting opened very gently; it was Gigia who opened it, so gently as to enable her mistress to keep her eyes on a book she held in her hand, apparently unconscious that she was not alone.  The Marchese Lamberto advanced two paces within the room, and then stopped gazing at the exquisite picture before his eyes.  Bianca knew that all her preparatory cares were doing the work they were intended to do.  But no sound had yet been made to compel her to recognize her visitor’s presence; and she remained as motionless as a recumbent statue.

“I fear, Signora—­,” said the Marchese, after a few instants given to profiting by the rare opportunity a singular chance had given him,—­“I fear, Signora—­

“Santa Maria, who is there!” cried Bianca in a voice of alarm, starting to her feet as she spoke with a bound, that none but so skilled an artist and so perfect a figure could have executed with the faultless elegance with which she accomplished it.

“A thousand pardons, Signora; your servant—­”

“The Marchese Lamberto!  It is unpardonable in the woman—­to have so failed in her duty-towards your Excellency!  It is I who have to beg your indulgence, Signor Marchese.  Can it be one o’clock already?  In truth I had no idea it was so late; and I have still to dress!  How can I apologize to your Excellency sufficiently for appearing before you in this dishabille?”

“Nay, Signora, it is in truth I who have to apologize; it is not yet one o’clock, it is not much past twelve!  And I feel that I am guilty of an unwarrantable intrusion.  But I hoped for the opportunity of having a few words of conversation before the hour named for our little business with our good Signor Ercole.  Permit me to assure you, Signora, that if your servant had given me the least hint that you were not yet—­ready to see any visitor—­”

“If only your Excellency will excuse—­the fact is, I have so rarely any visitors that the poor woman does not understand her duty in such matters.  Really I am so covered with confusion,”—­she continued, putting up her delicate little hand with a feeble sort of little attempt to draw her dress a little more together across her throat.  “I cannot forgive her!  She has exposed me to seem wanting in respect towards your Excellency; I will dismiss her from my service!”

“Let me intercede for her, poor woman!” said the Marchese, advancing into the room; “indeed it was mainly my fault, I ought to have asked if you were visible.”

“One word from la sua Signoria is enough.  If you can forgive me, I must forgive her!  But you will own, Signor Marchese, that it is—­ what shall I say—?” She hesitated and cast her eyes down with a bewitching smile and a little movement of her bead to one side, “that it really is—­embarrassing!  Such a thing never happened to me before!”