Once outside the building, Giovanni breathed more freely, although the sight of the automobile confirmed his apprehension.  Hailing a cab, he put Favorita into it and got in after her.  They had not gone more than five hundred yards when Nina, alone in the car, passed them.  Giovanni had stooped over quickly so that she might not recognize him; but Favorita took no notice of this, or anything else, and they drove on in a silence broken only by occasional and casual remarks.  It was not until they were safely within her apartment that he demanded: 

“And now, Fava, perhaps you will have the goodness to explain to me what you were doing at the Palazzo Sansevero when I saw you, and how you got past the portiere?”

“At least it shows you that what I try to do I accomplish,” she retorted with an air of bravado.  She leaned her elbows on a little table, looking across at Giovanni, her lips parted, her eyes dancing.  “Do you wish to hear?  Very well.  I have a friend who gives the American heiress lessons in Italian.  She says it is easy—­one has only to talk Italian and make her talk, and tell her when she makes mistakes.  My friend is sick.  She sent a letter, which I intercepted, and I went in her place.  Why not?” Then suddenly her little teeth locked tightly, and she spoke between them savagely—­“I’d be a teacher worth employing.  I could talk Italian to her that she would never forget!  Nor would she forget me, either!”

Giovanni’s teeth locked quite as tightly as hers.  “Will you hush?  You must be insane!  I told you from the beginning that I would not advertise myself with you.  I told you also that if you made a scene, or if you ever tried to interfere with my family or my private life, at that moment all would end between us.”  As he spoke, Favorita looked frightened, but in a flash her manner changed completely.  Long association with him had not been without its lessons, and she answered as sweetly as though no disagreement had ever come between them; as though there were no incongruity between their suspended discussion and her interrupting sentence.  “Giovannino,” she cooed, “I have had a great offer, an astounding offer from Vienna.”

He saw his opportunity.  His manner therefore, changed as rapidly as hers had done, and with every appearance of sympathy and interest he asked for her news.  She told him with triumph the details of her offer from the manager of a Viennese theatre for a ten weeks’ engagement at a stupendous salary.

“You must accept—­by all means!” Not a trace of the relief he felt crept into his expression; he looked sad, but thoroughly resigned.  “It is time,” he added cleverly, “that you should make a name for yourself that is cosmopolitan and not alone of Italy.”

So far they had been sitting on either side of a small table, but now Favorita arose and went around to him.  Pushing the table away, she sat on his knee, and, with one arm about his neck, held up his chin with her other hand.  Then, deliberately, she looked into his eyes with that level, determined steadiness which makes no compromise.  She spoke very quietly, so quietly that he was more than ever uneasy.  Her turbulence was annoying, but this calmness was ominous.