"I could hardly have blamed her if she had expected it, for—I failed her once. But that was before I knew her. Nothing could make me doubt her now. She did write to me. I found a letter waiting at the villa this morning—a letter postmarked Monte Carlo, to say I mustn't look for her—that all is over for ever and ever."
"But you're going to look for her all the same?"
"And to find her. I won't rest till I've got her back."
"You're the right sort of man, though you aren't an American."
"My mother was one."
"So much the better. Let's go into the house, and I'll soon make your people swallow any words they've said against Mary."
Americo was still at the door, or had returned there. "Highness," he said, "the Princess wishes me to make you come in. She has to talk. She send me in woods, but I not go, because of young lady with you. I wait here. Princess in yellow saloon, by her lone."
"Come," Vanno said to Peter. "We'll speak to her, and find out what she wants. Then my brother shall come and hear your story."
"Go first and explain me, please," Peter said.
Vanno would have obeyed, but Princess Della Robbia gave him no time. She was wandering restlessly about the room, too impatient to sit down. When she saw Vanno at the door, she went to him swiftly. "I'm so glad Americo found you," she cried. "I need to have a word with you alone. Angelo is so hard! He wouldn't let me see Mary before she went, or even write her a line of love and sympathy. I've hardly eaten or slept since that awful afternoon. If you could know how ill I am, you wouldn't blame me so much! I love Mary. My heart's breaking for her trouble. But I can do nothing, except send a letter for you to give, in case you find her. Please take it—I've written it already, in case—and don't tell Angelo."