“You do not seem much astonished at what I tell you,” he remarked.  “It is evident that you are in the plot.”

“Unless you will inform me of what you know, Signor Conte,” I replied with urbanity, “I cannot see how I can be of service to you.”

“On the contrary,” said he, “I am the person to ask questions.  I wake up in the morning and find my daughter gone.  I naturally inquire where she is.”

“Most naturally, as you say, sir.  I would do the same.”

“And you, also very naturally, answer my questions,” he continued severely.

“In that case, sir,” I replied, “I would call to your attention the fact that you have asked but one question,—­whether I were Signor Grandi.  I answered that in the affirmative.”  You see I was apprehensive of what he might do, and desired to gain time.  But he began to lose his temper.

“I have no patience with you Italians,” he said, gruffly; “you bandy words and play with them as if you enjoyed it.”

Diavolo, thought I, he is angry at my silence.  What will he be if I speak?

“What do you wish to know, Signor Conte?” I inquired, in suave tones.

“I wish to know where my daughter is.  Where is she?  Do you understand?  I am asking a question now, and you cannot deny it.”

I was sitting in front of him, but I rose and pretended to shut the door, thus putting the table and the end of the piano between us, before I answered.

“She is in Rome, Signor Conte,” I said.

“With Cardegna?” he asked, not betraying any emotion.

“Yes.”

“Very well.  I will have them arrested at once.  That is all I wanted.”  He put his crutch-stick to the floor as though about to rise.  Seeing that his anger was not turned against me, I grew bold.

“You had better not do that,” I mildly observed, across the table.

“And why not, sir?” he asked, quickly, hesitating whether to get upon his feet or to remain seated.

“Because they are married already,” I answered, retreating toward the door.  But there was no need for flight.  He sank back in the chair, and the stick fell from his hands upon the bricks with a loud rattle.  Poor old man!  I thought he was quite overcome by the news I had communicated.  He sat staring at the window, his hands lying idly on his knees.  I moved to come toward him, but he raised one hand and began to twirl his great gray moustache fiercely; whereat I resumed my former position of safety.

“How do you know this?” he demanded on a sudden.

“I was present at the civil marriage yesterday,” I answered, feeling very much scared.  He began to notice my manoeuvre.

“You need not be so frightened,” he said, coldly.  “It would be no use to kill any of you now, though I would like to.”

“I assure you that no one ever frightened me in my own house, sir,” I answered.  I think my voice must have sounded very bold, for he did not laugh at me.