"Was not the marchese in Paris at Easter?"
"He was. I saw him once at the Opera with the old Duke of Castelfranco."
"Just so. A quarrel about a dancing-girl at Paris at Easter. That was how it was."
"You are right," said Michael, regaining his composure with an effort. "I owed him a grudge. You will be careful to mention this to no one?"
"I will mention it only to one or two women on whom I can rely," said the duke; "and to them only in the strictest confidence."
Michael nodded.
Silence fell between them, and he wondered why the duke did not go. The warder shifted his feet in the passage.
Presently the duke began to speak in a low, even voice.
"I owe you an apology," he said. "I saw you standing behind the screen, reflected in a little mirror, and for one moment I thought you had done me a great injury. It was only for a moment. I regained myself quickly. I would have saved you if I could. But I owe you an apology for a suspicion unworthy of either of us."
"It was natural," said Michael. He was greatly drawn to this man.