"Why should I not ask you?" he replied, quietly. "You have seen her," he added, "and I—I am interested in her. Oh, not because she is the Princess of Montefiano—that does not concern me at all—but—well, for other reasons."
Silvio was silent. Indeed, he did not know how to answer. What he had just heard confirmed his suspicions that Bianca was practically isolated from the world, as though she were within the walls of a convent. He had asked in Montefiano about the castle and its inmates, and had learned absolutely nothing, save what might be implied by the shrugging of shoulders.
Suddenly Don Agostino spoke again.
"And you?" he said, laying his hand for a moment on Silvio's—"forgive me if I am inquisitive—but you, also, are interested in Donna Bianca Acorari—is it not true?"
Silvio started. "I!" he exclaimed.
Don Agostino smiled. His agitation seemed to have passed, and he looked at the boy beside him searchingly, but very kindly.
"If I am mistaken," he repeated, "you must forgive me; but if I am not, I think that you will not regret telling me the truth."
Silvio looked at him steadily.
"It is true," he said, slowly, "that I am interested in Donna Bianca—very much interested. You have been very good to me, Don Agostino," he added, "and I will be quite open with you. I feel that you will not betray a confidence, even though it may not be told you in the confessional."
Don Agostino made a slight gesture, whether of impatience Silvio could not quite be sure.