"How is she this evening?" he inquired in the same tone.
"Only so-so," was the reply; "the Signora Principessa has actually written her a letter—such an honor. But I almost wish she had not."
"Written to Giannella!" he exclaimed. "What had she got to say?"
"Oh, all that she said the other day and more still. She is very sure that Giannella ought to accept. And the poor child, who had been so happy because I told her what we were talking about this morning, has been crying all day. She says that if it is her duty to marry the padrone she will try to fulfill it, but that she will want to throw herself into the Tiber afterwards. It is dreadful. If you can only find this avvocato and get him to make the padrone change his mind, well and good. But otherwise I see no way—"
"I do," said Rinaldo sharply. "Giannella should have more sense. There are wise men, good priests, who will tell her in four words where her duty leads her. But we will try and reconcile everybody first, since you and she wish it. Wait a minute, I will take this man's name and address and then you can put this card back where Giannella found it. Please hold this match for me."
"Oh, make haste. Take care!" she exclaimed as Rinaldo struck a vesta and put it into her fingers. "He may come down. If he sees us talking together there will be more trouble."
Rinaldo had copied the card while she was speaking. Now he returned it to her, saying, as the match spluttered out, "If he does come, I will speak to him, I promise you. I will tell the old meddler to go and get himself fried—and all his best little dead too."
Mariuccia shuddered at the suggestion of this deadliest insult in the Roman's armory. "For the love of charity," she implored, "do nothing so rash. He might hand you over to the police—or even cast the evil eye upon you. I cannot say that anything has ever happened to me—but he does squint dreadfully sometimes, poverino. Run, I hear someone coming."
"As you will, I shall bring you good news to-morrow, I hope." And he moved away and was lost in the darkness. Mariuccia drew back into the shadow of the stable and from thence watched Bianchi emerge from the archway. He was enveloped in the double-caped cloak which all the men carried with them after sundown, and held a sheaf of papers in one hand. He stumbled over a stone and the papers flew in every direction. Patiently he stooped and began to gather them up. The instinct of service was too strong for his old domestic. Instantly she was at his side, assisting him deftly.