Though Nina understood only vaguely what it all meant, she was human and feminine enough to find a certain grim satisfaction in the thought that Giovanni was no more to be trusted by the Potensi than by herself.

A short time afterward Zoya got up to go.  “I shall see you to-morrow, cara, yes?  Will you lunch with me?  And—­I shall like very much if you bring the American.”

“Do you mean John?”

Zoya burst out laughing and then mimicked Nina’s tone.  “Is it indeed possible that I could mean him?” She leaned over and kissed Nina affectionately, then hurried to the door.  On the threshold she paused to call back, “One o’clock to-morrow, and be sure of John!” She smiled, blew another kiss, and was gone.

Nina looked after her, her thoughts in strange turbulence.  A moment later she ran a comb through her hair, pinned up one or two tumbled locks, washed her face, polished her nails, took out a clean handkerchief; after which, she felt quite made over, and went in search of her aunt.

If she imagined that the day’s emotions were ended, she was destined to be mistaken, for just as she went into the princess’s room, a messenger came with a note from the prince, saying that he had been arrested.  It was a very cheerful note and sounded rather as though he considered the whole situation a joke.  He begged his wife not to be alarmed.  The police had evidently mistaken him for Giovanni, so he had given no explanation and refused even to tell his name.  When Giovanni should have time to reach the frontier, he would prove his identity and return home.

The princess’s chief anxiety was therefore directed toward Giovanni, and she dreaded lest Sandro’s identity be discovered before his brother should be safe.  As for Nina, she cared no longer what might happen to Giovanni.  She had had too many shocks and too little time for recovery.  All her sympathy was for her poor Uncle Sandro who, in the meantime, was sitting in jail!  Yet the thought of his situation in some way struck her as ludicrous—­almost like comic opera.

But following this there came a second letter, very different from the first, written by the prince in great agitation, and saying that his arrest was not for the death of the duke, but for the smuggling of a Raphael out of the country.

At the shock of this news, the princess for once lost her self-control and turned to Nina in frightened helplessness.

Nina’s first thought was to send for Derby, and to her relief the princess not only made no objection, but grasped eagerly at the suggestion.  Fortunately, she got him on the telephone just as he was leaving his hotel, but in her agitation she did not stop to explain further than that her uncle was under arrest somewhere because of something to do with a picture.  Derby answered that he would come at once, and the reassurance that she felt from the mere sound of his voice partly communicated itself through her to the princess, as they went into the sitting-room to wait for him.  A few minutes later the portieres were lifted—­but instead of Derby, it was the Marchese Valdeste who entered.