"You will drive me into marrying you out of sheer curiosity," said Donna
Tullia, with an impatient laugh.
"I wish that were possible. I wish I could see my way to telling you as it is, for the thing is so curious that it would have the most intense interest for you. But it is quite out of the question."
"You should never have told me anything about it," replied Madame Mayer.
"Well, I will think about it," said Del Ferice at last, as though suddenly resolving to make a sacrifice. "I will look over some papers I have, and I will think about it. I promise you that if I feel that I can conscientiously tell you something of the matter, you may be sure that I will."
Donna Tullia's manner changed again, from impatience to persuasion. The sudden hope he held out to her was delicious to contemplate. She could not realise that Del Ferice, having once thoroughly interested her, could play upon her moods as on the keys of an instrument. If she had been less anxious that the story he told should be true, she might have suspected that he was practising upon her credulity. But she seized the idea of obtaining some secret influence over the life of Giovanni, and it completely carried her away.
"You must tell me—I am sure you will," she said, letting her kindest glance rest upon her companion. "Come and dine with me,—do you fast? No—nor I. Come on Friday—will you?"
"I shall be delighted," answered Del Ferice, with a quiet smile of triumph.
"I will have the old lady, of course, so you cannot tell me at dinner; but she will go to sleep soon afterwards—she always does. Come at seven. Besides, she is deaf, you know."
The old lady in question was the aged Countess whom Donna Tullia affected as a companion in her solitary magnificence.
"And now, will you take me back to the ball-room? I have an idea that a partner is looking for me."