“Oh, do tell me!  Is there anything fresh?” There was a flash of crimson colour in her cheek, which faded almost instantly.

“This much.  They have found out who the man was.”

“Really?  Positively?  Whom do they say now?”

“Perhaps I had better not tell you.  It may surprise you, shock you to hear.  I think you knew him—­”

“Nothing can well shock me now.  I have had too many shocks already.  Who do they think it is?”

“A Mr. Quadling, a banker, who is supposed to have absconded from Rome.”

She received the news so impassively, with such strange self-possession, that for a moment he was disappointed in her.  But then, quick to excuse, he suggested: 

“You may have already heard?”

“Yes; the police people at the railway station told me they thought it was Mr. Quadling.”

“But you knew him?”

“Certainly.  They were my bankers, much to my sorrow.  I shall lose heavily by their failure.”

“That also has reached you, then?” interrupted the General, hastily and somewhat uneasily.

“To be sure.  The man told me of it himself.  Indeed, he came to me the very day I was leaving Rome, and made me an offer—­a most obliging offer.”

“To share his fallen fortunes?”

“Sir Charles Collingham!  How can you?  That creature!” The contempt in her tone was immeasurable.

“I had heard—­well, some one said that—­”

“Speak out, General; I shall not be offended.  I know what you mean.  It is perfectly true that the man once presumed to pester me with his attentions.  But I would as soon have looked at a courier or a cook.  And now—­”

There was a pause.  The General felt on delicate ground.  He could ask no questions—­anything more must come from the Countess herself.

“But let me tell you what his offer was.  I don’t know why I listened to it.  I ought to have at once informed the police.  I wish I had.”

“It might have saved him from his fate.”

“Every villain gets his deserts in the long run,” she said, with bitter sententiousness.  “And this Mr. Quadling is—­But wait, you shall know him better.  He came to me to propose—­what do you think?—­that he—­his bank, I mean—­should secretly repay me the amount of my deposit, all the money I had in it.  To join me in his fraud, in fact—­”

“The scoundrel!  Upon my word, he has been well served.  And that was the last you saw of him?”

“I saw him on the journey, at Turin, at Modane, at—­Oh, Sir Charles, do not ask me any more about him!” she cried, with a sudden outburst, half-grief, half-dread.  “I cannot tell you—­I am obliged to—­I—­I—­”

“Then do not say another word,” he said, promptly.

“There are other things.  But my lips are sealed—­at least for the present.  You do not—­will not think any worse of me?”

She laid her hand gently on his arm, and his closed over it with such evident good-will that a blush crimsoned her cheek.  It still hung there, and deepened when he said, warmly: