"As surely as that he does not," replied Del Ferice.
"It would be strange," said Donna Tullia, meditatively. "I would like to know if it is true."
"You have only to watch them."
"Surely Giovanni cares more than she does," objected Madame Mayer.
"Everybody says he loves her; nobody says she loves him."
"All the more reason. Popular report is always mistaken—except in regard to you."
"To me?"
"Since it ascribes to you so much that is good, it cannot be wrong," replied Del Ferice.
Donna Tullia laughed, and took his hand to descend from her carriage.
CHAPTER VII.
Monsieur Gouache's studio was on the second floor. The narrow flight of steps ended abruptly against a green door, perforated by a slit for the insertion of letters, by a shabby green cord which, being pulled, rang a feeble bell, and adorned by a visiting-card, whereon with many superfluous flourishes and ornaments of caligraphy was inscribed the name of the artist—ANASTASE GOUACHE.