"That is true. By the bye, I saw that excellent Donna Tullia there. I wonder whose ticket she had."
"She had the Princess Befana's," answered Spicca, who knew everything. "The old lady happened to be dying—she always dies at the beginning of the season—it used to be for economy, but it has become a habit—and so Del Ferice bought her card of her servant for his wife."
"Who was the lady who sat with her?" asked Giovanni, delighted with his own skill.
"You ought to know!" exclaimed Flavia. "We all saw Orsino take her out. That is the famous, the incomparable Madame d'Aranjuez—the most beautiful of Spanish princesses according to to-day's paper. I daresay you have seen the account of the Del Ferice party. She is no more Spanish than Alexander the Great. Is she, Spicca?"
"No, she is not Spanish," answered the latter.
"Then what in the world is she?" asked Giovanni impatiently.
"How should I know? Of course it is very disagreeable for you." It was Flavia who spoke.
"Disagreeable? How?"
"Why, about Orsino of course. Everybody says he is devoted to her."
"I wish everybody would mind his and her business," said Giovanni sharply. "Because a boy makes the acquaintance of a stranger at a studio—"