“You are an excellent girl!” he said, in a particular tone, and gave her his hand in farewell.

There was a great chain of rooms in Mrs. Light’s apartment, the pride and joy of the hostess on festal evenings, through which the departing visitor passed before reaching the door.  In one of the first of these Rowland found himself waylaid and arrested by the distracted lady herself.

“Well, well?” she cried, seizing his arm.  “Has she listened to you—­have you moved her?”

“In Heaven’s name, dear madame,” Rowland begged, “leave the poor girl alone!  She is behaving very well!”

“Behaving very well?  Is that all you have to tell me?  I don’t believe you said a proper word to her.  You are conspiring together to kill me!”

Rowland tried to soothe her, to remonstrate, to persuade her that it was equally cruel and unwise to try to force matters.  But she answered him only with harsh lamentations and imprecations, and ended by telling him that her daughter was her property, not his, and that his interference was most insolent and most scandalous.  Her disappointment seemed really to have crazed her, and his only possible rejoinder was to take a summary departure.

A moment later he came upon the Cavaliere, who was sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, so buried in thought that Rowland had to call him before he roused himself.  Giacosa looked at him a moment keenly, and then gave a shake of the head, interrogatively.

Rowland gave a shake negative, to which the Cavaliere responded by a long, melancholy sigh.  “But her mother is determined to force matters,” said Rowland.

“It seems that it must be!”

“Do you consider that it must be?”

“I don’t differ with Mrs. Light!”

“It will be a great cruelty!”

The Cavaliere gave a tragic shrug.  “Eh! it is n’t an easy world.”

“You should do nothing to make it harder, then.”

“What will you have?  It ’s a magnificent marriage.”

“You disappoint me, Cavaliere,” said Rowland, solemnly.  “I imagined you appreciated the great elevation of Miss Light’s attitude.  She does n’t love the prince; she has let the matter stand or fall by that.”

The old man grasped him by the hand and stood a moment with averted eyes.  At last, looking at him, he held up two fingers.

“I have two hearts,” he said, “one for myself, one for the world.  This one opposes Miss Light, the other adores her!  One suffers horribly at what the other does.”

“I don’t understand double people, Cavaliere,” Rowland said, “and I don’t pretend to understand you.  But I have guessed that you are going to play some secret card.”

“The card is Mrs. Light’s, not mine,” said the Cavaliere.

“It ’s a menace, at any rate?”

“The sword of Damocles!  It hangs by a hair.  Christina is to be given ten minutes to recant, under penalty of having it fall.  On the blade there is something written in strange characters.  Don’t scratch your head; you will not make it out.”