"No, I do not forget," interrupted the princess. "It was asked after you had spoken to my step-daughter spoken to her alone—a thing unheard of, signore."
Silvio was silent for a moment. The princess was certainly right, and he could not deny it.
"Had I not spoken to Donna Bianca," he said, presently, "I could never have been certain that she returned my love. From the instant that I knew she did so, I never attempted to see her again until my father had made a formal offer on my behalf."
"Which offer was declined by me," returned the princess.
"By you, Signora Principessa, yes—"
"And should not that have been sufficient?"
In spite of himself, Silvio's eyes twinkled. "Well, no!" he replied. "It was sufficient neither for Donna Bianca nor for me."
"Signor Rossano!" exclaimed the princess, in amazement.
"Neither for Donna Bianca nor for me," repeated Silvio, tranquilly; "because, princess, we love each other, and we mean to marry—oh, not this year, or next year, perhaps—but when Donna Bianca is of an age to do as she chooses. Until that time arrives we are quite content to wait, if necessary. It will make no difference in the end."
Princess Montefiano tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. Bianca had said the very same words to her more than once.