“Approximately,” said Giovanni, smiling in spite of himself.

“Does Corona cut your allowance when you tell fibs?” asked Flavia.  “No?  Then why say that it is only approximately true?”

“I have my reasons.  And you can tell me nothing?”

“Nothing.  I believe Spicca knows all about her.  But he will not tell what he knows.”

Spicca made no answer to this, and Giovanni determined to outstay him, or rather, to stay until he rose to go and then go with him.  It was tedious work for he was not a man who could talk against time on all occasions.  But he struggled bravely and Spicca at last got up from his deep chair.  They went out together, and stopped as though by common consent upon the brilliantly lighted landing of the first floor.

“Seriously, Spicca,” said Giovanni, “I am afraid Orsino is falling in love with this pretty stranger.  If you can tell me anything about her, please do so.”

Spicca stared at the wall, hesitated a moment, and then looked straight into his companion’s eyes.

“Have you any reason to suppose that I, and I especially, know anything about this lady?” he asked.

“No—­except that you know everything.”

“That is a fable.”  Spicca turned from him and began to descend the stairs.

Giovanni followed and laid a hand upon his arm.

“You will not do me this service?” he asked earnestly.

Again Spicca stopped and looked at him.

“You and I are very old friends, Giovanni,” he said slowly.  “I am older than you, but we have stood by each other very often—­in places more slippery than these marble steps.  Do not let us quarrel now, old friend.  When I tell you that my omniscience exists only in the vivid imaginations of people whose tea I like, believe me, and if you wish to do me a kindness—­for the sake of old times—­do not help to spread the idea that I know everything.”

The melancholy Spicca had never been given to talking about friendship or its mutual obligations.  Indeed, Giovanni could not remember having ever heard him speak as he had just spoken.  It was perfectly clear that he knew something very definite about Maria Consuelo, and he probably had no intention of deceiving Giovanni in that respect.  But Spicca also knew his man, and he knew that his appeal for Giovanni’s silence would not be vain.

“Very well,” said Sant’ Ilario.

They exchanged a few indifferent words before parting, and then Giovanni walked slowly homeward, pondering on the things he had heard that day.

CHAPTER VIII.

While Giovanni was exerting himself to little purpose in attempting to gain information concerning Maria Consuelo, she had launched herself upon the society of which the Countess Del Ferice was an important and influential member.  Chance, and probably chance alone, had guided her in the matter of this acquaintance, for it could certainly not be said that she had forced herself upon Donna Tullia, nor even shown any uncommon readiness to meet the latter’s advances.  The offer of a seat in her carriage had seemed natural enough, under the circumstances, and Donna Tullia had been perfectly free to refuse it if she had chosen to do so.