"You don't know how you
squeezed it, you are so strong. You don't know the quantity of force
you put out!"
"Pardon--a thousand pardons, Signora! I am such a clumsy clown! Have
I really hurt you, Bianca?"
"Not to the death, Signor," she said, with a charming smile, and
holding up to him the injured member, shaking it as she let it
dangle from the slender wrist. "But see! it is really all blushing
red from the ardour of your hand's embrace!"
"Poor little hand!--indeed, it is!" said the Marchese, taking it
gently and tenderly between both of his; then, suddenly throwing
himself on his knees by the side of the sofa, while he still held
it, he said, "And how can the great cruel hand that did the harm
make fit amends?"
"Ah, Signor Marchese, it might find the way to do that, if it were
so disposed. It would not be so far to seek. But you are seeking in
the wrong direction," she continued, drawing herself back from him
on the sofa, as he, leaning forward against it, had brought himself
so near to her, that the back of the hand in which he held hers
touched her waist. "You are seeking amiss. It is not so that any
remedy can be found; and--pray rise, Signor, and take your usual
chair. This must not be,--I am sure you would not willingly give me
pain, Marchese, and you are paining me. Pray leave the sofa.
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