The proprietor sniffed at Minardi and said contemptuously, "You expect Count Torriani to pay for you and you do not even know what he looks like?"
"I have not the honor of his acquaintance," said Minardi, "but my daughter Rosa has. And I have with me a specimen of his handwriting that may prove valuable." He drew from his pocket a wrinkled sheet of paper. As Palladino, curiosity at last aroused, reached for it, Minardi held it gently out of his reach. "If there is somewhere we can talk—in private," offered Minardi. He looked around and met with a start the interested face of the little flower-girl, who in her rounds had paused near them. She moved away at once, the suspicious looks of the two men following her.
Palladino plucked at the shiny sleeve of Minardi and they stepped outside in the shadow of the cool stucco wall. In the flickering light of the ornamental lantern near the entrance-way, the former read from the paper.
Rosa mia:
My car will be waiting outside the Café Del Mare at ten to-morrow night. I can hardly live until I again kiss your sweet lips.
RODRIGO.
Palladino looked significantly at his companion, his natural avarice stirred by the opportunity held out to him. "That he should break the heart of my innocent Rosa!—there are things, Palladino, that a father cannot endure. My family, my honor demand satisfaction."
The proprietor recognized the feelings of the outraged father by advising that they be voiced in a lower tone.
"After all, Count Torriani is not the only Rodrigo in Italy," said Palladino. "Your daughter Rosa must know more than one."
"I intercepted this note at noon, when I awoke. A boy brought it when Rosa was in Naples at her work. I questioned her when she returned. She has admitted that Torriani is the man. There are other letters more ardent than this one. See!" And he drew out a packet from his pocket.