'Barbaresco is poor,' she answered. 'He has suffered wrongs. Once, in my father's time he was almost the greatest man in the State. My uncle has stripped him of his honours and almost of his possessions.'
'That is the best thing I have heard of the Marquis Theodore yet.'
She did not heed him, but went on: 'Can I desert him now? Can I ...' She checked and stiffened, seeming to grow taller. 'What am I saying? What am I thinking?' She laughed, and there was scorn of self in her laugh. 'What arts do you employ, you, an unknown man, a self-confessed starveling student, base and nameless, that upon no better warrant than your word I should even ask such a question?'
'What arts?' said he, and smiled in his turn, though without scorn. 'The art of pure reason based on truth. It is not to be resisted.'
'Not if based on truth. But yours is based on prejudice.'
'Is it prejudice that they are plotting murder?'
'They have been misled by their devotion ...'
'By their cupidity, madonna.'
'I will not suffer you to say that.' Anger flared up again in her, loyal anger on behalf of those she deemed her only friends in her great need. She checked it instantly, 'Sir, I perceive your interest, and I am grateful. If you would still do me a service, go, tell Messer Barbaresco from me that this plot of assassination must go no further. Impose it upon him as my absolute command. Tell him that I must be obeyed and that, rather than be a party to such an act, I would disclose the intention to the Marquis Theodore.'
'That is something, madonna. But if when you have slept upon it ...'