“Yes,” she laughed.
“Where is your lover, Armytage?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “He may be abroad again, for all I know. I’ve neither seen nor heard from him since we parted nearly a month ago,” she said, drawing a chair close to the fire and seating herself, her feet placed coquettishly on the rusted fender.
“He knows nothing, I suppose?” Nenci growled, still smoking.
“Not a word. I’m not a fool, even though I may be in love.”
Both men laughed. They knew well the character of this beautiful woman before them, and placed the most implicit confidence in her.
“You really love him—eh?” Nenci inquired.
“I’ve already told you so a dozen times,” she answered impatiently.
“But you won’t desert us?” the younger man—whom they addressed as “The Gobbo,” Italian for hunchback—said earnestly.
“I am still with you,” she answered. “It is impossible for me to serve two masters. What time is the consultation to-night?”