“What is this, Maria? Tell me all.”
“Oh, I can’t, I can’t,” she said desperately.
“Tell me all at once,” he rejoined in angry impatience.
“No, no, Marco, it is nothing. I am mad this morning.”
“That is impossible. You were calm and serene yesterday evening. There is something. There is somebody. Whom have you seen this morning?”
The question was so precise and abrupt that the woman of truth hesitated, and dared no longer be silent.
“I have seen Gianni Provana.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed, twisting his moustaches; “did you see him here?”
“No, elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere? In the street?”