“Some one has wounded you?” asked Julien.

He saw that she was sincere, and that she scarcely remembered the ill-humor of the preceding day.  “You can not deceive a friend such as I am,” he continued.  “On seeing you fan yourself, I knew that you had some annoyance.  I know you so well.”

“I have no annoyance,” she replied, with an impatient frown.  “I can not bear to hear lies of a certain kind.  That is all!”

“And who has lied?” resumed Dorsenne.

“Did you not hear Ardea speak of his chapel just now, he who believes in God as little as Hafner, of whom no one knows whether he is a Jew or a Gentile!....  Did you not see poor Fanny look at him the while?  And did you not remark with what tact the Baron made the allusion to the delicacy which had prevented his daughter from visiting the Palais Castagna with us?  And did that comedy enacted between the two men give you no food for thought?”

“Is that why Peppino is here?” asked Julien.  “Is there a plan on foot for the marriage of the heiress of Papa Hafner’s millions and the grand-nephew of Pope Urban VII?  That will furnish me with a fine subject of conversation with some one of my acquaintance!"....  And the mere thought of Montfanon learning such news caused him to laugh heartily, while he continued, “Do not look at me so indignantly, dear Contessina.  But I see nothing so sad in the story.  Fanny to marry Peppino?  Why not?  You yourself have told me that she is partly Catholic, and that her father is only awaiting her marriage to have her baptized.  She will be happy then.  Ardea will keep the magnificent palace we saw yesterday, and the Baron will crown his career in giving to a man ruined on the Bourse, in the form of a dowry, that which he has taken from others.”

“Be silent,” said the young girl, in a very grave voice, “you inspire me with horror.  That Ardea should have lost all scruples, and that he should wish to sell his title of a Roman prince at as high a price as possible, to no matter what bidder, is so much the more a matter of indifference, for we Venetians do not allow ourselves to be imposed upon by the Roman nobility.  We all had Doges in our families when the fathers of these people were bandits in the country, waiting for some poor monk of their name to become Pope.  That Baron Hafner sells his daughter as he once sold her jewels is also a matter of indifference to me.  But you do not know her.  You do not know what a creature, charming and enthusiastic, simple and sincere, she is, and who will never, never mistrust that, first of all, her father is a thief, and, then, that he is selling her like a trinket in order to have grand-children who shall be at the same time grandnephews of the Pope, and, finally, that Peppino does not love her, that he wants her dowry, and that he will have for her as little feeling as they have for her.”  She glanced at Madame Maitland.  “It is worse than I can tell you,” she said, enigmatically, as if vexed by her own words, and almost frightened by them.