He rose quickly as she passed him, and the blood rushed to his face, up to the very roots of his hair.
Beatrice was too much of a woman not to see the effect she produced upon the poor sailor, and she nodded gracefully to him, in acknowledgment of his politeness in rising.

As she did so she noticed on her part that the poor sailor was indeed a very remarkable specimen of a man, such as she had not often seen.

She stopped and spoke to him.
"Are you the Count of San Miniato's boatman ?" she asked in her sweet voice.
"Yes, Eccellenza," answered Ruggiero, still blushing violently "Then he has engaged the boat?
We want a boat, too--the Marchesa di Mola--can you get us one ?" "There is my brother, Eccellenza." "Is he a good sailor ?" "Better than I, Eccellenza." Beatrice looked at the figure before her and smiled graciously.
"Send him to us at twelve o'clock," she said.

"The Marchesa di Mola--do not forget." "Yes, Eccellenza." Ruggiero bowed respectfully, while Beatrice nodded again and passed on.
Then he sat down again and waited, but his fingers no longer moved in calculations and his expression had changed.

He sat still and stared in the direction of the corner beyond which the young girl had disappeared.
He was conscious for the first time in his life that he possessed a heart, for the thing thumped and kicked violently under his blue guernsey, and he looked down at his broad chest with an odd expression of half-childish curiosity, fully expecting to see an outward and visible motion corresponding with the inward hammering.