a protestation, in that sale.  Had she not known through Hafner that he had bought at a low price an enormous heap of the Prince’s bills of exchange?  Did she not know the Baron well enough to be sure that M. Noe Ancona, the implacable creditor who sold the palace, was only the catspaw of this terrible friend?  In a fit of ill-humor at the Baron, had she not herself accused him in Alba’s presence of this very simple plan, to bring Ardea to a final catastrophe in order to offer him salvation in the form of the union with Fanny, and to execute at the same time an excellent operation?  For, once freed from the mortgages which burdened them, the Prince’s lands and buildings would regain their true value, and the imprudent speculator would find himself again as rich, perhaps richer.

“Come,” said Madame Steno to the Prince, after a moment’s silence and without any preamble, “it is now time to talk business.  You dined by the side of my little friend yesterday; you had the entire evening in which to study her.  Answer me frankly, would she not make the prettiest little Roman princess who could kneel in her wedding-gown at the tomb of the apostles?  Can you not see her in her white gown, under her veil, alighting at the staircase of Saint Peter’s from the carriage with the superb horses which her father has given her?  Close your eyes and see her in your thoughts.  Would she not be pretty?  Would she not?”

“Very pretty,” replied Ardea, smiling at the tempting vision Madame Steno had conjured up, “but she is not fair.  And you know, to me, a woman who is not fair—­ah, Countess!  What a pity that in Venice, five years ago, on a certain evening—­do you remember?”

“How much like you that is!” interrupted she, laughing her deep, clear laugh.  “You came to see me this morning to talk to me of a marriage, unhoped for with your reputation of gamester, of supper-giver, of ‘mauvais sujet’; of a marriage which fulfils conditions most improbable, so perfect are they—­beauty, youth, intelligence, fortune, and even, if I have read my little friend aright, the beginning of an interest, of a very deep interest.  And, for a little, you would make a declaration to me.  Come, come!” and she extended to him for a kiss her beautiful hand, on which gleamed large emeralds.  “You are forgiven.  But answer—­yes or no.  Shall I make the proposal?  If it is yes, I will go to the Palace Savorelli at two o’clock.  I will speak to my friend Hafner.  He will speak to his daughter, and it will not depend upon me if you have not their reply this evening or to-morrow morning.  Is it yes?  Is it no?”

“This evening?  To-morrow?” exclaimed the Prince, shaking his head with a most comical gesture.  “I can not decide like that.  It is an ambush!  I come to talk, to consult you.”

“And on what?” asked Madame Steno, with a vivacity almost impatient.  “Can I tell you anything you do not already know?  In twenty-four hours, in forty-eight, in six months, what difference will there be, I pray you?  We must look at things as they are, however.  To-morrow, the day after, the following days, will you be less embarrassed?”