“And you found him kind, too; as kind as his uncle?” said Violante, stealing a sidelong glance at Paolina.

“Yes, indeed, Signorina,” said she, feeling not a little embarrassment.

“Paolina—­you see I know your name, and I think it such a pretty one—­Paolina,” said the Contessa Violante, yielding to a sudden impulse, and taking the hand of the blushing girl, who kept her eyes fixed on the ground, “shall we be friends, and speak openly to each other?  I should like to.”

“Oh, Signorina! so should I, so much.  There is nothing I should like so much—­almost nothing,” replied Paolina, looking up into her face, with her own still crimson.

“Tell me, then, if you ever heard my name mentioned in connection with that of the Marchese Ludovico?” said Violante, looking with a rather sad and subdued, but yet arch, smile into Paolina’s eyes.

“Yes, Signorina, I have so heard,” said Paolina, raising her head with a proud movement, and looking, with well-opened eyes and clear brow, into Violante’s face as she spoke.  “I have heard that it was intended by both your families that you and the Marchese Ludovico should be married.”

“Yes; everybody in Ravenna, I believe, expects to see such a marriage before long; do you?  We are to be friends, you know, and speak frankly to each other; do you expect it, Paolina?” asked Violante, still holding her hand, and looking with a smile, half shrewd, half sad, into her face.

Paolina remained silent a minute or two, again dropping her clear honest eyes to the ground.  Then raising them again, she said in an almost whispered voice, but looking straight at her companion,

“No, Signorina, I do not expect that; for he has promised to marry me.”

“Ah—­h! it is a relief to hear you say so.  My dear Paolina, I am so glad,” said the elder girl, putting a hand on each of Paolina’s shoulders, and kissing her on the forehead—­“I am so glad; much for your own sake, somewhat, too, for his, and much for my own sake.  For, Paolina, I could not marry Ludovico.  If he asked me to do so, it would be only done in obedience to the will of his uncle.  He does not—­no, ’tis no fault of yours, my child—­never has loved me.”

“Signora, when first I—­allowed him to teach me to love him, I knew nothing of any duty that he owed elsewhere.  And when I did know it I determined, even if it should break my heart, to refuse any such love as should have been stolen from a wife,” said Paolina.

“That was the part of a good and honest girl.  And for me, I have to thank you for it.  Paolina, I hope you may be happy.  We shall often meet here, shall we not?”

“Not often here, Signora.  My task here is not a long one; and I hope by the end of Carnival to have finished it, so that I may go to St. Apollinare, outside the town, where I have to make several copies.  It is very desirable not to go there later; because when the warm weather comes it becomes so unhealthy there.”