“I am to leave to-night? It is dark already, and I have no friends in Florence.”
The Marchesa shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t help that,” she said.
Olive went slowly out into the hall, and stood there hesitating at the head of the stairs. She scarcely knew what to do or where to turn, but she was determined not to stay longer than she could help under this roof. She went down to the porter’s lodge in the paved middle court.
“Gigia!”
The old woman came hobbling out to greet her with a toothless smile. “Ah, bella signorina, there are no more letters for you to-night. Have you come to talk to me for a little?”
“I am going away,” the girl answered hurriedly. “Will your husband come in to fetch my luggage soon? At eight o’clock?”
Gigia laid a skinny hand on Olive’s arm, and her sharp old eyes blinked anxiously as she said, “Where are you going, nina mia?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not to the Prince?”
“Good heavens! No!”