"The Princess Agatha is certain of it. She told me so, and that was enough for me."
"But suppose it isn't enough for me? Suppose I have no confidence in that woman's shrewdness and foresight? Don't you know that women have no talent whatever for that sort of thing? Have they any other talent in the way of divining or pretending than the talent they place at the service of love?"
"You have become very learned on this subject, and I have continued to be quite ignorant; however, my friend, if you desire to know further details, ask the princess herself for them, and you will probably be satisfied. I intended to put you in communication with her to-night."
"To-night? in direct communication? Shall I be able to talk with her alone?"
"Surely, if you consider it necessary to the success of our undertaking."
The Piccinino turned abruptly to Michel, and looked at him without saying a word.
The young artist was unable to sustain that gaze without distress. The adventurer's manner of speaking of Agatha had already irritated him exceedingly, and to keep himself in countenance he was forced to take a cigarette which the bandit suddenly offered him with an ironical and quasi-patronizing air.
The Piccinino had risen, and seemed to have fully made up his mind to go. He began to unbuckle his sash, shaking and stretching his legs like a hunting-dog preparing for the chase.
He passed into another room, and soon returned, dressed with more care and more simply. He had covered his bare legs with long gaiters of white wool like those worn by the Italian mountaineers. But all the buttons, from ankle to knee, were of fine gold. He had put on the twofold doublet, the outer one of green velvet embroidered with gold; the inner one shorter, and less full, and of fashionable cut, was of lilac watered silk, embroidered with silver. A white leather belt encircled his supple waist; but, instead of the copper buckle, he wore a superb clasp of antique coraline, richly mounted. No weapons were visible, but there could be no question that he was provided with most adequate means of defence. Finally, he had exchanged his showy cloak for the classic cloak of black woollen cloth, lined with white, and covered his head with the pointed hood that gives the aspect of monks or ghosts to all the mysterious figures that one meets on mountain paths.