He tried to comfort himself with the assurance that he could leave Rome on the following day, and that Spicca would not refuse to give him Maria Consuelo’s address in Paris.  But the consolation he derived from the idea was small.  He found himself wondering at the recklessness shown by the woman he loved in escaping from him.  His practical Italian mind could hardly understand how she could have changed all her plans in a moment, abandoning her half-furnished apartment without a word of notice even to the workmen, throwing over her intention of spending the winter in Rome as though she had not already spent many thousands in preparing her dwelling, and going away, probably, without as much as leaving a representative to wind up her accounts.  It may seem strange that a man as much in love as Orsino was should think of such details at such a moment.  Perhaps he looked upon them rather as proofs that she meant to come back after all; in any case he thought of them seriously, and even calculated roughly the sum she would be sacrificing if she stayed away.

Beyond all he felt the dismal loneliness which a man can only feel when he is suddenly and effectually parted from the woman he dearly loves, and which is not like any other sensation of which the human heart is capable.

More than once, up to the last possible moment, he was tempted to drive to the station and leave with Maria Consuelo after all, but he would not break the promise he had given Spicca, no matter how weak he had been in giving it.

On reaching his home he was informed, to his great surprise, that San Giacinto was waiting to see him.  He could not remember that his cousin had ever before honoured him with a visit and he wondered what could have brought him now and induced him to wait, just at the hour when most people were at dinner.

The giant was reading the evening paper, with the help of a particularly strong cigar.

“I am glad you have come home,” he said, rising and taking the young man’s outstretched hand.  “I should have waited until you did.”

“Has anything happened?” asked Orsino nervously.  It struck him that San Giacinto might be the bearer of some bad news about his people, and the grave expression on the strongly marked face helped the idea.

“A great deal is happening.  The crash has begun.  You must get out of your business in less than three days if you can.”

Orsino drew a breath of relief at first, and then grew grave in his turn, realising that unless matters were very serious such a man as San Giacinto would not put himself to the inconvenience of coming.  San Giacinto was little given to offering advice unasked, still less to interfering in the affairs of others.

“I understand,” said Orsino.  “You think that everything is going to pieces.  I see.”

The big man looked at his young cousin with something like pity.

“If I only suspected, or thought—­as you put it—­that there was to be a collapse of business, I should not have taken the trouble to warn you.  The crash has actually begun.  If you can save yourself, do so at once.”