He returned to the little garden, where the Commissary, as soon as he caught sight of him, asked him to point out the dahlias Signora Peppina had been praising. Upon learning that they were in the kitchen-garden he proposed going there with Franco. They could go alone, for indeed all the others were ignorant on the subject of dahlias. Franco accepted.
The conduct of this little police-spy in gloves puzzled him, and he sought to discover if it could in any way be connected with the mysterious warning.
"Listen, Signor Maironi," the Commissary began resolutely, when Franco had closed the gate of the kitchen-garden behind him. "I wish to say a word to you."
Franco who was descending the few steps leading from the threshold of the gate, stopped with a clouded brow. "Come here," the Commissary added imperiously. "What I am about to do is perhaps not in accordance with my duty, but I shall do it, notwithstanding. I am too good a friend of the Marchesa, your grandmother, not to do it. You are in great danger."
"I?" Franco inquired, coldly. "In danger of what?"
Franco was endowed with a rapid and sure intuition of the thoughts of others. The Commissary's words agreed perfectly with the message Barborin had brought; still, at that moment he felt that the little police-spy harboured treachery in his heart.
"In danger of what? Of Mantua!" was Zérboli's reply.
Franco did not flinch upon hearing the awful word, synonym of incarceration and the gibbet.
"I need not fear Mantua," said he. "I have done nothing to deserve Mantua."
"Nevertheless——!"