“Your faith in me is flattering, to say the least,” he laughed.  “But you seem to think that finding an object in America is as simple as though it were mislaid in a fishing village.  Do you realize the vastness of the territory which I am to search in the twinkling of an eye?”

“No, no!  You must not laugh.  I am very serious.  I know that America is a land in which everything may be accomplished, even though I may have a false idea of its size.  And in you, as an American, my faith is unbounded.  You see, I feel convinced that it all depends on you!” Then, under the impulsion of her enthusiasm she clapped her hands together as she exclaimed:  “Oh, I am sure you will clear the prince!  And then, like the hero in all good story books, win the reward.”

“And the reward?” he queried.  “What is it to be?  Unfortunately, you are asking me to save a prince—­a poor prince at that, with no favors to bestow.  In the good story books it is always a beautiful princess.  To be sure,” he added, “the princess is as beautiful as one could wish, but alas! she is married.”

“I do not find you at all amiable,” the contessa pouted.  “I am serious—­very serious, and you make fun.”

“Not at all.  I am very serious, and you talk of fairy tales.  Still, if you are my fairy godmother, there is no knowing what stroke of fortune may await me in Sicily.”  Then, changing his tone, he said earnestly:  “I am really sorry, but I am afraid I shall have to leave the picture question until I come back.”

“You are going straight off to Sicily?”

“Yes.”

“To be gone how long?”

“I don’t know; I have no idea.  Weeks, perhaps.  Months, very likely; why do you ask?”

“May I say something—­something very frank to you?” Zoya leaned forward with a sudden direct impulse.

“Say what you please, by all means!” Derby braced himself for her remark, but even so he colored as she said:  “Are you in love with Nina?  Please, don’t be angry; I don’t ask you to answer.  But if you are, I can’t see why you go away to work mines and such things.  I should have married her long ago had I been you.”

Derby’s eyes blazed.  “Do you mean I should try to marry her and live on her money?”

“Why not?  Since she has enough for two—­enough for twenty!  There is no need to be so furious. Per l’amore di Dio! You Americans have always the ears up, listening for a sound that you can fly at!” Languorously she leaned back among the cushions of the sofa.  “It is all so silly—­your idea of life.”  And then she stopped and looked at him curiously.  “What is your idea of life?”

“Life?  One might put it in three words:  One must work!”

Zoya shook her head—­she did it charmingly.  “No, no,” she said softly; “you are altogether wrong—­though I also can put it in three words.  Life lies in this:  One must love.  That’s all there is!”

The conversation ended there, for the Duke Scorpa and Count Masco came up to speak to the contessa.  Derby arose and was about to leave when the duke stopped him.  Masco sat down to talk with Zoya, and Scorpa spoke to Derby in an undertone.  “I hear you are going to Sicily to-morrow?”