Orsino was impatient for Spicca to take some immediate action, but he understood that the count had a right to ask the question.

“She has told me that she does not know her mother’s name, and that you killed her husband.”

“Both these statements are perfectly true at all events.  Is that all you know?”

“All?  Yes—­all of importance.  But there is no time to be lost.  No one but you can prevent her from leaving Rome to-night.  You must help me quickly.”

Spicca looked gravely at Orsino and shook his head.  The light that had shone in his eyes for a moment was gone, and he was again his habitual, melancholy, indifferent self.

“I cannot stop her,” he said, almost listlessly.

“But you can—­you will, you must!” cried Orsino laying a hand on the old man’s thin arm.  “She must not go—­”

“Better that she should, after all.  Of what use is it for her to stay?  She is quite right.  You cannot marry her.”

“Cannot marry her?  Why not?  It is not long since you told me very plainly that you wished I would marry her.  You have changed your mind very suddenly, it seems to me, and I would like to know why.  Do you remember all you said to me?”

“Yes, and I was in earnest, as I am now.  And I was wrong in telling you what I thought at the time.”

“At the time!  How can matters have changed so suddenly?”

“I do not say that matters have changed.  I have.  That is the important thing.  I remember the occasion of our conversation very well.  Madame d’Aranjuez had been rather abrupt with, me, and you and I went away together.  I forgave her easily enough, for I saw that she was unhappy—­then I thought how different her life might be if she were married to you.  I also wished to convey to you a warning, and it did not strike me that you would ever seriously contemplate such a marriage.”

“I think you are in a certain way responsible for the present situation,” answered Orsino.  “That is the reason why I come to you for help.”

Spicca turned upon the young man rather suddenly.

“There you go too far,” he said.  “Do you mean to tell me that you have asked that lady to marry you because I suggested it?”

“No, but—­”

“Then I am not responsible at all.  Besides, you might have consulted me again, if you had chosen.  I have not been out of town.  I sincerely wish that it were possible—­yes, that is quite another matter.  But it is not.  If Madame d’Aranjuez thinks it is not, from her point of view there are a thousand reasons why I should consider it far more completely out of the question.  As for preventing her from leaving Rome I could not do that even were I willing to try.”

“Then I will go with her,” said Orsino, angrily.

Spicca looked at him in silence for a few moments.  Orsino rose to his feet and prepared to go.

“You leave me no choice,” he said, as though Spicca had protested.