"Yes; there are many ways. She might be placed in a convent, for instance. Such things have been done before now. Or they might force her to marry somebody else."
"Or kill me! Go on, Giacinta," said Silvio, laughing. "We are not in the Middle Ages, cara mia sorellina. In these days, when people disappear, inquiries are made by the police. It is a prosaic system, perhaps, but it has certain advantages."
"Silvio," exclaimed Giacinta, suddenly, "it is all very well for you to laugh, but have you considered how isolated that girl is? She has absolutely no relations on her father's side. Babbo says there are no Acorari left, and that the old prince quarrelled with his first wife's family—Donna Bianca's mother's people. She is alone in the world with a step-mother who is entirely under the thumb of her priest."
"And with me," interrupted Silvio.
Giacinta glanced at him. "They will keep you at a safe distance," she said, "if it does not suit the Abbé Roux that Donna Bianca should marry."
"Cristo!" swore her brother, between his teeth. "What do you mean, Giacinta? Do you know what you are implying?"
Giacinta Rossano's eyes flashed. She looked very like Silvio at that moment.
"I know perfectly well what I am implying," she said, quickly. "You have not chosen to trust me, Silvio, and perhaps you were right. After all, I could not have done so much for you as that Frenchwoman has done. God knows why she has done it!"
Silvio looked a little abashed. "How did you know about the Frenchwoman?" he asked.
Giacinta laughed dryly. "Never mind how I know," she replied, "and do not think I have been spying upon your actions. I have been making a few inquiries about the Montefiano ménage on my own account—about things that perhaps Mademoiselle Durand—is not that her name?—might never be in a position to hear, as she does not live in the house."