Spicca silently poured out two glasses and handed him the empty flask. He seemed to be very thirsty. Presently he got his birds. They proved eatable, for quails are to be had all through the summer in Italy, and he began to eat in silence. Orsino watched him with some curiosity wondering whether the quantity of wine he drank would not ultimately produce some effect. As yet, however, none was visible; his cadaverous face was as pale and quiet as ever, and his sunken eyes had their usual expression.
"And how does your business go on, Orsino?" he asked, after a long silence.
Orsino answered him willingly enough and gave him some account of his doings. He grew somewhat enthusiastic as he compared his present busy life with his former idleness.
"I like the way you did it, in spite of everybody's advice," said Spicca, kindly. "A man who can jump through the paper ring of Roman prejudice without stumbling must be nimble and have good legs. So nobody gave you a word of encouragement?"
"Only one person, at first. I think you know her—Madame d'Aranjuez. I used to see her often just at that time."
"Madame d'Aranjuez?" Spicca looked up sharply, pausing with his glass in his hand.
"You know her?"
"Very well indeed," answered the old man, before he drank. "Tell me, Orsino," he continued, when he had finished the draught, "are you in love with that lady?"
Orsino was surprised by the directness of the question, but he did not show it.
"Not in the least," he answered, coolly.