Del Ferice laughed incredulously.

“The eldest son of Casa Saracinesca would not find that a practical obstacle,” he said, taking his hat and rising to go.  “Besides, what is needed in these transactions is not so much ready money as courage, decision and judgment.  There is a rich firm of contractors now doing a large business, who began with three thousand francs as their whole capital—­what you might lose at cards in an evening without missing it, though you say that you have no money at your command.”

“Is that possible?” asked Orsino with some interest.

“It is a fact.  There were three men, a tobacconist, a carpenter and a mason, and they each had a thousand francs of savings.  They took over a contract last week for a million and a half, on which they will clear twenty per cent.  But they had the qualities—­the daring and the prudence combined.  They succeeded.”

“And if they had failed, what would have happened?”

“They would have lost their three thousand francs.  They had nothing else to lose, and there was nothing in the least irregular about their transactions.  Good evening, Madame—­I have a private meeting of directors at my house.  Good evening, Don Orsino.”

He went out, leaving behind him an impression which was not by any means disagreeable.  His appearance was against him, Orsino thought.  His fat white face and dull eyes were not pleasant to look at.  But he had shown tact in a difficult situation, and there was a quiet energy about him, a settled purpose which could not fail to please a young man who hated his own idleness.

Orsino found that his mood had changed.  He was less angry than he had meant to be, and he saw extenuating circumstances where he had at first only seen a wilful mistake.  He sat down again.

“Confess that he is not the impossible creature you supposed,” said Maria Consuelo with a laugh.

“No, he is not.  I had imagined something very different.  Nevertheless, I wish—­one never has the least right to wish what one wishes—­” He stopped in the middle of the sentence.

“That I had not gone to his wife’s party, you would say?  But my dear Don Orsino, why should I refuse pleasant things when they come into my life?”

“Was it so pleasant?”

“Of course it was.  A beautiful dinner—­half a dozen clever men, all interested in the affairs of the day, and all anxious to explain them to me because I was a stranger.  A hundred people or so in the evening, who all seemed to enjoy themselves as much as I did.  Why should I refuse all that?  Because my first acquaintance in Rome—­who was Gouache—­is so ‘indifferent,’ and because you—­my second—­are a pronounced clerical?  That is not reasonable.”

“I do not pretend to be reasonable,” said Orsino.  “To be reasonable is the boast of people who feel nothing.”

“Then you are a man of heart?” Maria Consuelo seemed amused.