“Who was that lady with him last night?” she asked of her mother.

“I do not know that—­lady,” answered the Contessa, with a very slight hesitation before pronouncing the last word.

But they had both heard of Regina already.

CHAPTER X

The Contessa wrote to Corbario two days later, addressing her letter to Rome, as she did not know where he was.  It was not like her to meddle in the affairs of other people, or to give advice, but this was a special case, and she felt that something must be done to save Marcello; for she was a woman of the world, with much experience and few illusions, and she understood at a glance what was happening to her dead friend’s son.  She wrote to Folco, telling him of the accidental meeting in the portico of the Theatre Francais, describing Marcello’s looks, and saying pretty clearly what she thought of the extremely handsome young woman who was with him.

Now Paris is a big city, and it chanced that Corbario himself was there at that very time.  Possibly he had kept out of Marcello’s way for some reason of his own, but he had really not known that the Contessa was there.  Her letter was forwarded from Rome and reached him four days after it was written.  He read it carefully, tore it into several dozen little bits, looked at his watch, and went at once to the quiet hotel in the Rue Saint Honore.  The Contessa was alone, Aurora having gone out with her mother’s maid.

Maddalena was glad to see him, not because she liked him, for she did not, but because it would be so much easier to talk of what was on her mind than to write about it.

“I suppose you are surprised to see me,” said Folco, after the first conventional greeting.

“No, for one may meet any one in Paris, at any time of the year.  When I wrote, I thought Marcello must be alone here—­I mean, without you,” she added.

“I did not know he had been here, until I heard that he was gone.  He left three or four days ago.  I fancy that when you wrote your letter he was already gone.”

“Do you let him wander about Europe as he pleases?” asked the Contessa.

“He is old enough to take care of himself,” answered Corbario.  “There is nothing worse for young men than running after them and prying into their affairs.  I say, give a young fellow his independence as soon as possible.  If he has been brought up in a manly way, with a feeling of self-respect, it can only do him good to travel alone.  That is the English way, you know, and always succeeds.”

“Not always, and besides, we are not English.  It is not ‘succeeding,’ as you call it, in Marcello’s case.  He will not live long, if you let him lead such a life.”

“Oh, he is stronger than he looks!  He is no more threatened with consumption than I am, and a boy who can live through what happened to him two years ago can live through anything.”