Silvio was silent for a moment. Was this not what Giacinta had said to him more than once? Then a dogged expression came over his face—his eyes seemed to harden suddenly, and his lips compressed themselves.
"Her destiny is to be my wife," he said, briefly.
Mademoiselle Durand shot a quick glance of approval at him.
"Diable!" she exclaimed, "but you Romans have wills of your own even in these days, it seems. And suppose the girl never learns to care for you—how then, Monsieur Silvio? Will you carry her off as your ancestors did the Sabine women?"
Silvio shrugged his shoulders. "She will learn to care for me," he said, "if she is properly taught."
Mademoiselle Durand laughed. "Tiens!" she murmured again. "And I am to give her a little rudimentary instruction—to prepare her, in short, for more advanced knowledge? Oh, la, la! Monsieur Silvio, you must know that such things do not come within the province of a daily governess."
"But you see her for three hours every day," returned Silvio, earnestly. "In three hours one can do a great deal," he continued.
"A great deal too much sometimes!" interrupted Mademoiselle Durand rapidly, under her breath.
"And when it is day after day," proceeded Silvio, "it is much easier. A word here, and a word there, and she would soon learn that there is somebody who loves her—somebody who would make her a better husband than some brainless idiot of her own class, who will only want her money and her lands. And then, perhaps, if we could meet—if she could hear it all from my lips, she would understand."
Mademoiselle Durand gave a quick little sigh. "Oh," she said, "if she could learn it all from your lips, I have no doubt that she would understand very quickly. Most women would, Monsieur Silvio."