Pasotti put this question with the skill of a great actor, with affectionate but discreet interest, with no more curiosity than was fitting, and with the intention of lubricating and softening somewhat Gilardoni's closed heart, that it might open of itself, little by little. But Gilardoni's heart, instead of spreading itself open at that gentle touch, contracted and closed tighter than ever.
"I don't know," the Professor replied, feeling the colour mounting to his face, and indeed he turned scarlet. In his mental note-book Pasotti immediately made a note of the embarrassed manner, and of the heightened colour. "He would be unwise to throw up the game. It is only natural that the Marchesa should create difficulties for them, but after all, she is a good creature, and devoted to him. Poor woman, what a fright she had the other night!"
He glanced at the Professor who was frowning in uneasy silence, and reflected: You will not speak? Then you know. "Just think of it! Not to say where he was going! What do you think of that?"
"But I know nothing about it, I don't understand." Gilardoni exclaimed, frowning more darkly still and growing ever more uneasy.
And now Pasotti, who was aware that the Professor had long since ceased to visit the Rigeys, but was ignorant of the reason why, made a move which was worthy only of a novice in roguery.
"You might enquire about it at Castello." said he, with a malicious simper.
At this point Gilardoni, who was already boiling with rage, overflowed.
"Pray oblige me by dropping this subject," said he, angrily, "oblige me by dropping it."
Pasotti grew sullen. Ceremonious, insinuating, and given to adulation though he was, his pride would not allow him to suffer an unpleasant word calmly, and he took offence at every shadow. He said no more, and in a few minutes took his leave with dignified coolness, and retired through the beets and the turnips, nursing his wrath. On reaching the top of the Contrada dei Mal'ari, the bargnif paused a moment to think, resting his chin on his hand, then he started towards the shore of Casarico, moving slowly, his head bent low, but with glistening eyes, like the poodle that smells the hidden truffle in the air. Don Giuseppe's frightened denials, Maria's obstinate denials, and the Professor's embarrassment and outburst of temper, told him that a truffle really existed, and that it must be a big one. He had thought of going to Loggi where dwelt Paolin and Paolon, both of whom were well informed, but then he had remembered that it was Tuesday, and that probably he would not find them. No, it would be better to go directly up to Castello from Casarico, and sniff and hunt about in the house of a certain Signora Cecca, an admirable woman, all heart, and famous for the assiduous watch she kept from her window over the entire Valsolda by means of a powerful spy-glass. She could tell you any day who had gone to Lugano with the boatman Pin, or with Panighet; noted the conversations the unhappy Pinella held with a certain Mochét in front of the church at Albogasio, half a mile distant; she knew how many days it had taken Engineer Ribera to drink the little cask of wine which his boat carried back empty from the house at Oria to the cellar at S. Margherita. If Franco had been to Casa Rigey Signora Cecca must surely know it.
In the passage that leads from Casarico to the narrow street of Castello, Pasotti heard hurried steps behind him, and then some one brushed past him in the darkness and he believed he had recognised a man nicknamed "légora fugada" or the "hunted hare," because of the furious pace at which he always walked. This honest man, who was even more inquisitive than Pasotti, was a most worthy person who loved to know things just for the sake of knowing them, and for no other reason. He always went about alone, was everywhere, appearing and disappearing like a flash, sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, like certain large, winged insects, which pass with a glance, a whirr, a touch, and then, hush! they are neither heard nor seen again until there comes another glance, another whirr, another touch. He had seen the Pasottis enter the "Palace," and the unusual hour had caused him to suspect something. Lying flat in a small field he had seen Signora Barborin turn homewards, and the Controller start towards Casarico. Then, having followed at a distance, this individual had posted himself behind one of the pilasters of the portico of Casarico while Pasotti was calling on Gilardoni, and now he had slipped past him, taking advantage of the dark passage, and hastening to reach Castello before him, that he might watch his movements from some point of vantage.