‘Allow me to say,’ said de Maurienne, ‘that with us, in France, matters of this kind are discussed between the friends of the principals. Is the practice different in your country?’
‘Not at all. But this is quite another sort of affair. I, personally, give you my word that what I am going to tell you is what really happened. You will understand that if I, as colonel, give my word for that of one of my officers, I am fully aware of the responsibility I undertake.’
‘This changes the aspect of things, I admit,’ said de Maurienne gravely, but less coldly.
He had never been placed in such a position, nor had he ever heard of just such a case.
‘Practically,’ continued the Colonel, ‘it transfers all the responsibility to me. I know Castiglione to be a man of accurate memory, and as soon as he was gone I wrote down precisely what he had told me. Here it is.’
He took out his note-book, found the place, and read aloud a precise account of what had passed between Teresa Crescenzi and Castiglione up to the moment when de Maurienne had entered the room. De Maurienne listened attentively.
‘My cousin—her father was my mother’s cousin—is a very ingenious woman,’ concluded Casalmaggiore with a smile, and pocketing his notes again. ‘I am sorry to say that I have known her to exhibit her ingenuity in even more surprising ways than this.’
‘She told me that Castiglione had accused her of meeting me in an equivocal place,’ said de Maurienne.
‘No doubt. We are rather afraid of her in Rome, and very much so in the family.’
‘What is her object in all this?’