“Will you? Really?” asked the Cardinal, alert.
“Of course I will. It's a shame you haven't one already.”
“What would a lovely silver one cost?” he asked.
“I don't know. It does n't matter,” answered she.
“But approximately? More or less?” he pursued.
“Oh, a couple of hundred lire, more or less, I daresay.”
“A couple of hundred lire?” He glanced up, alerter. “Do you happen to have that amount of money on your person?”
Beatrice (the unwary woman) hunted for her pocket—took out her purse—computed its contents.
“Yes,” she innocently answered.
The Cardinal chuckled—the satisfied chuckle of one whose unsuspected tactics have succeeded.