“Without disclosing other people’s secrets, signorina, I may admit that if anything went wrong with the debt my employers’ opinion of my discretion would be severely shaken.”

“Of your discretion,” she said, laughing.  “Thank you, Mr. Martin.  And you would wish that not to happen?”

“I would take a good deal of pains to prevent its happening.”

“Not less willingly if your interest and mine coincided?”

I was about to make a passionate reply when we heard the President’s voice saying: 

“And where is our hostess?  I should like to thank her before I go.”

“Hush,” whispered the signorina.  “We must go back.  You will be true to me, Mr. Martin?”

“Call me Jack,” said I idiotically.

“Then you will be true, O Jack?” she said, stifling a laugh.

“Till death,” said I, hoping it would not be necessary.

She gave me her hand, which I kissed with fervor, and we returned to the salon, to find all the players risen from the table and standing about in groups, waiting to make their bows till the President had gone through that ceremony.  I was curious to hear if anything passed between him and the signorina, but I was pounced upon by Donna Antonia, the daughter of the minister of finance, who happened to be present, notwithstanding the late hour, as a guest of the signorina’s for the night.  She was a handsome young lady, a Spanish brunette of the approved pattern, but with manners formed at a New York boarding school, where she had undergone a training that had tempered, without destroying, her native gentility.  She had distinguished me very favorably, and I was vain enough to suppose she honored me by some jealousy of my penchant for the signorina.

“I hope you have enjoyed yourself in the conservatory,” she said maliciously.

“We were talking business, Donna Antonia,” I replied.

“Ah! business!  I hear of nothing but business.  There is papa gone down to the country and burying himself alive to work out some great scheme of business.”

I pricked up my ears.

“Ah! what scheme is that?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t know!  Something about that horrid debt.  But I was told not to say anything about it!”

The debt was becoming a bore.  The whole air was full of it.  I hastily paid Donna Antonia a few incoherent compliments, and took my leave.  As I was putting on my coat Colonel McGregor joined me and, with more friendliness than he usually showed me, accompanied me down the avenue toward the Piazza.  After some indifferent remarks he began: 

“Martin, you and I have separate interests in some matters, but I think we have the same in others.”

I knew at once what he meant; it was that debt over again!

I remained silent, and he continued: 

“About the debt, for instance.  You are interested in the debt?”