Silvio started violently. Then he came and stood beside her.
"Donna Bianca," he said, in a low, eager voice, "do you know what you are saying?"
Bianca looked at him a little wonderingly. She could not but notice his agitation. "Certainly I do," she replied. "You see, Monsieur Silvio," she added, and then stopped in confusion. "I beg your pardon," she said, blushing violently. "I am very rude—but I have so often heard Mademoiselle Durand speak of you as 'Monsieur Silvio,' that I fear—I am afraid—"
Silvio Rossano's head began to swim. He looked at her and said nothing. Then he swore at himself for being a fool and losing his opportunities.
"You see," proceeded Bianca, picking up the train of her thoughts again, "I am afraid I am not like other girls. I have lived most of my life alone, and I suppose I have odd ideas. When I am of age, I shall certainly please myself—but until then, I have to please other people. Of course, I know that a man is obliged to speak to a girl's parents before he can tell her that he loves her. But I am quite sure that if I were a man and wanted to know if my love were returned, I should ask the person I loved."
Silvio looked at her curiously.
"And is that your advice to me, Donna Bianca?" he said. "You advise me to ask the girl I love—whom I have loved ever since I first saw her seven months ago, though I have scarcely spoken to her in my life—whether she returns my love?"
"If I were in your place—yes," returned Bianca. "Why not, Mons—Signor Rossano?"
Silvio drew a long breath.
"It is what I came here this afternoon to do," he said, quietly.