Had the Marchese been an archbishop himself, instead
of being merely the intimate friend of one, it could not have seemed
in Ravenna more out of the question to mention his respected name in
connection with any scandal or inuendo of the kind. There was not a
mother in Ravenna who would not have been proud to see her daughter
honoured by any such intercourse with the Marchese as might be
natural between a father and his child. Proud indeed the most noble
of those matrons would have been could she have supposed that any
such intercourse tended towards sentiments of a more tender nature.
But all hopes of this kind had been long given up in Ravenna. It was
quite understood that the Marchese was not a marrying man.
Not that even now, in his fiftieth year, he might not well have
entered the lists with many a younger man as a candidate for the
favour of the sex. He was a man of a remarkably fine presence, tall,
well made, and with a natural dignity and graceful bearing in all
his movements, which were very impressive. He had never given in to
the modern fashion of wearing either beard or moustache. And the
contours of his face were too good and even noble to have gained
anything by being so hidden. The large, strong, rather square jaw
and chin, and smooth placid cheeks were strongly expressive of quiet
decision and dignified force of will.
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