In due time, Orsino appeared, looking pale and ill tempered. He caught sight of Spicca and went at once to the table where he sat.
"I have had a letter," said the young man. "I must speak to you. If you do not object, we will dine together."
"By all means. There is nothing like a thoroughly bad dinner to promote ill-feeling."
Orsino glanced at the old man in momentary surprise. But he knew his ways tolerably well, and was familiar with the chronic acidity of his speech.
"You probably guess who has written to me," Orsino resumed. "It was natural, perhaps, that she should have something to say, but what she actually says, is more than I was prepared to hear."
Spicca's eyes grew less dull and he turned an inquiring glance on his companion.
"When I tell you that in this letter, Madame d'Aranjuez has confided to me the true story of her origin, I have probably said enough," continued the young man.
"You have said too much or too little," Spicca answered in an almost indifferent tone.
"How so?"
"Unless you tell me just what she has told you, or show me the letter, I cannot possibly judge of the truth of the tale."