Silvio laughed. "Something of the sort, I admit," he answered.
"Well," continued Don Agostino, decidedly, "it will not do; it will not do at all. We are not characters in a novel, and we can afford to act like ordinary human beings who are face to face with a difficulty, but who are also not quite sure of their ground. In real life it is wonderful how things settle themselves if we will only be patient and allow them to do so. No; you are not the hero in a romance, and it is not necessary for you to bring about a situation lest the public should become tired of you. The situation will probably come of itself—per forza maggiore."
"And am I to sit down and do nothing, and leave the field clear for Baron d'Antin?" asked Silvio.
"For a short time—for a few days, perhaps—yes."
"But you forget," Silvio interrupted, quickly. "Bianca is expecting to hear from me in some way. I promised her I would communicate with her. That is now nearly a month ago, and as yet I have been unable to send her a single word, for a letter would certainly never reach her—that is to say, until I can find some trustworthy person who would give it to her."
"Write your letter, and I will undertake that it reaches her," said Don Agostino.
"You!" exclaimed Silvio.
"Yes; I will be your messenger. Yesterday I would not have undertaken to help you so far. You can probably guess why, Silvio."
"Because you were not sure of me—that I was worthy of your help?"
"Oh, as to that, I was always sure from the first," said Don Agostino, quietly. "I am very seldom mistaken in my first impressions of people whom I care to study, and I studied you. But I was determined not to act on my impressions until they should have been confirmed by your father. I always told you as much, if you remember."