title to which she certainly had a legal right, but which she had never before used, and he wondered still more why she travelled in Egypt with an old princess who was generally said to be anything but an agreeable companion, and was reported to be quite deaf.  But on the whole he thought little of the information itself.  It was the sight of Maria Consuelo’s name which had moved him, and he was not altogether himself for several days.  The impression wore off before long, and he followed the round of his monotonous life as before.

Early in the month of March in the year 1890, he was seated alone in his room one evening before dinner.  The great contract he had undertaken was almost finished, and he knew that within two months he would be placed in the same difficult position from which he had formerly so signally failed to extricate himself.  That he and Contini had executed the terms of the contract with scrupulous and conscientious nicety did not better the position.  That they had made the most strenuous efforts to find purchasers for the property, as they had a right to do if they could, and had failed, made the position hopeless or almost as bad as that.  Whether they liked it or not, Del Ferice had so arranged that the great mass of their acceptances should fall due about the time when the work would be finished.  To mortgage on the same terms or anything approaching the same terms with any other bank was out of the question, so that they had no hope of holding the property for the purpose of leasing it.  Even if Orsino could have contemplated for a moment such an act of bad faith as wilfully retarding the work in order to gain a renewal of the bills, such a course could have led to no actual improvement in the situation.  The property was unsaleable and Del Ferice knew it, and had no intention of selling it.  He meant to keep it for himself and let it, as a permanent source of income.  It would not have cost him in the end one half of its actual value, and was exceptionally good property.  Orsino saw how hopeless it was to attempt resistance, unless he would resign himself to voting an appeal to his own people, and this, as of old, he was resolved not to do.

He was reflecting upon his life of bondage when a servant brought him a letter.  He tossed it aside without looking at it, but it chanced to slip from the polished table and fall to the ground.  As he picked it up his attention was arrested by the handwriting and by the stamp.  The stamp was Egyptian and the writing was that of Maria Consuelo.  He started, tore open the envelope and took out a letter of many pages, written on thin paper.  At first he found it hard to follow the characters, and his heart beat at a rate which annoyed him.  He rose, walked the length of the room and back again, sat down in another seat close to the lamp and read the letter steadily from beginning to end.