"Pietro," he whispered softly through his own open windows to the servant who was moving silently about the room, "come here for a moment, quietly."
The servant came stealthily to the edge of the window.
"You see that girl on the lower balcony," said the Prince in a whisper.
Pietro nodded.
"Find out for me who she is—why she is here—whether she has any friends. Do it silently, so as to arouse no suspicion."
Again his faithful servant nodded, and disappeared into the gloom of the room.
Next day Pietro brought to his eager master what information he had been able to glean. He had succeeded in forming the acquaintance of the Signorina's maid.
For some reason, which the maid either did not know or would not disclose, the Signorina was exiled for a time from Venice. She belonged to a good family there, but the name of the family the maid also refused to divulge. She dared not tell it, she said. They had been in Florence for several weeks, but had only taken the rooms below within the last two days. The Signorina received absolutely no one, and the maid had been cautioned to say nothing whatever about her to any person; but she had apparently succumbed in a measure to the blandishments of gallant Pietro.
The rooms had been taken because of their quiet and obscure position.
That evening the Prince was again upon his balcony, but his thoughts were not so bitter as they had been the day before. He had a bouquet of beautiful flowers beside him. He listened for the Venetian song, but was disappointed at not hearing it; and he hoped that Pietro had not been so injudicious as to arouse the suspicions of the maid, who might communicate them to her mistress. He held his breath eagerly as he heard the windows below open. The maid came out on the balcony and placed an easy-chair in the corner of it. She deftly arranged the cushions and the drapery of it, and presently the Signorina herself appeared, and with languid grace seated herself.