Giacinta laughed. "Scarcely," she said; "but, Silvio mio, you must not be angry. You know that I do not care at all whether people are noble by birth or whether they are not. All the same, I think you are preparing for yourself a great deal of mortification; and for that girl, if you make her care for you, a great deal of unhappiness. You see how she is isolated. Does anybody, even of their own world, ever come to visit the princess and Donna Bianca? A few old women come occasionally, and a few priests—but that is all. Who or what the girl is being kept for I do not know—but it is certainly not for marriage with one not of her condition. Besides, except as her fidanzato, what opportunity could you have, or ever hope to have, of seeing her or of knowing what her feelings might be towards you?"
"And if I know them already?" burst out Silvio.
Giacinta looked grave.
"If you know them already," she said, "it means—well, it means that somebody has been behaving like an idiot."
"I, for instance!" exclaimed Silvio.
"Certainly, you—before anybody, you. Afterwards—"
"Afterwards—?"
"The woman who dropped the note that you have in your pocket."
"Giacinta!"
"Oh, I am not an imbecile, you know, Silvio. You were waiting for that woman to come away from her morning's lessons with Bianca, and I do not suppose it is the first time that you have waited for her—and—and, what is to be the end of it all, Heaven only knows," concluded Giacinta. It was a weak conclusion, and she was fully aware of the fact; but a look on Silvio's face warned her that she had said enough for the moment.